The Christmas Vacation
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: Edward, unconscious and alone in Central City, is taken in by some of its less-than-model citizens. When he wakes, he has no memory, and it is up to Al, Roy, and the rest to find him. Rated for language and alcohol, FMA is not mine, not a holiday story
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! I've been told to keep writing, so I shall! This story is in a bit of a different direction than my previous one, and features an Edward more in line with cannon than as I was writing him, as this takes place pre-series. I guess it makes sense in either first or second anime verse, but I write from a manga perspective, so keep that in mind. Anyway, let's actually get this thing started!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Prologue**

_Slap-thunk! Slap-thunk! Slap-thunk!_

He wasn't sure what was making more noise on the wet pavement, His normal foot, or the blasted automail. Well, it hardly mattered; if his heart was pounding as loud as Edward heard it in his ears at the moment, they could probably follow him based on that sound alone.

God, he felt pathetic. Running away from a few large thugs, a common street gang at best. But he couldn't risk alchemy. The narrow floor of the alley would hardly provide enough material, and if anything he constructed accidentally smashed into a wall or something—which was liable to happen in the tight space, he could freely admit—it could potentially send the whole district crashing down like dominoes. It would be catastrophic.

No, Edward did not want that on his hands. This certainly wasn't his ideal venue to actually face these thugs. In a maze of alleys he didn't know, deep in one of the seedier parts of Central City. Any other part of this town, he could stop, flash his watch, and get directions or a hiding space at least, but not here. Here, people cowered in fear, glared and cracked their knuckles, or worst, outright laughed at him.

After two years you'd think the jokes would end!

He steadied himself against a side of a rickety, towering building and tried to get his ragged breathing back under his control. He needed to be able to listen, hear if they were still behind him.

They were. Damnit.

He paused only a second longer and then took off again. Edward really wanted to find an end to these back alleys, a more friendly, populated street—and fast. He was running out of steam. Yes he had trained himself to endure long periods of activity, but he had been approaching his limit _before_ they'd run into these guys. That coupled with hardly any food and little rest during the train ride here the night before, well, he was in a bad way.

True, he could have kept Al with him, but he'd noticed his brother's hulking figure had only put the men further on edge. And right now, they'd be able to hear Alphonse's armor clanging all the way down fifty alleys. His little brother was not the best a sneaking around. His fault, so it was fair he was paying for it now.

Most State Alchemists stayed home sitting around their labs or libraries, the ones that didn't sat behind desks in military issued suits only going on the occasional mission with a whole backup team. But, he supposed travelling with just Al was more agreeable to him, plus it saved the trouble of blackmailing every new, busy-body troop of soldiers who saw Al's head get knocked off. How Mustang was keeping everything under wraps back at Eastern was still a mystery to Edward. He supposed the man actually seemed likeable to some people.

All this he was thinking about in order to ignore the increasing pain to his lungs that were obviously not receiving quite enough oxygen, the near-painful thumping of his heart, and a sharp ache in his side from where that one thug had swung at him with a metal pipe. Who the hell just carried those things around, anyway?

A low wall ahead signaled a dead end coming up. Ha! Not for him. He risked a small bit of alchemy to create a pole with which to vault the wall—

And straight into the first guy waiting on the other side. At least he managed to catch off guard and nailed in the chest with both boots. An expert landing, he felt. Unfortunately, the first guy had friends. Quite a few. It seemed the little group he had been running from had called up their friends, and they had surrounded him in the back alleys they knew so well.

Well, it wasn't like they wanted to talk. So Edward threw a punch with his metal fist, and soon he was ducking, jumping, kicking out amidst grunts and howls of pain.

But the jerk with the pipe caught him in the gut once more, and a kick sent him flying backward into a wall. He heard a shifting of rock, then a whoosh, and before he could push himself from the wall there was a painful _CRACK_!

OoO

The little guy went wheeling backwards into the side of an abandoned building, which had been condemned for a reason. The bricks above shook from the surprisingly powerful impact and one toppled over, falling down—

_CRACK_!

The guy dropped forward, flat on his stomach without a sound of protest, and they all stopped. Everything was still. Then one of the guys got the bright idea to check the victim—victim of circumstance, that's what they'd tell the cops if this got traced back to them. No way were they going to jail because of a stupid brick.

"I—I think he's dead," the self-appointed 'medic' pronounced, and they all shifted uneasily on their feet. What to do?

"Well, we should split, right?" That was a reasonable suggestion.

"Hey, wait! What about his stuff? He'll be harder to trace if he's got nothing the cops can use," another voice pointed out. They all liked the sound of that one.

The gloves and the jacket were easily removed by the first cautious robber. Sure, they were well-worn, but they could probably be sold at a pawn shop, even if the red coat was a bit of an eyesore with its weird design on the back.

The change a few bills were easily pocketed as the group became more eager in their looting, and one skinny guy who had started at the back was smart enough to sneak off with what looked like a checkbook.

A battered diary with boring passages and worthless scribbles was tossed in the dumpster. No one would want that.

The real fervor began when two men grabbed at the silver chain the body wore clipped to a belt buckle, and a fancy silver watch was found on the other end. Some growled threats and glares later, and soon fists were pounding again, amongst each other.

A back door banged open further down the way, spilling light, soft piano, and low murmurs, and the occasional peal of laughter out onto the alley.

"What's going on out there?"

Silence. One large burly man had the sense to rip off the watch, chain and all, from the body and went pitter-pattering down the alley and out of sight. The rest soon followed suit, and soon the alley was near-empty.

A woman stood in the doorway, wearing a nicely fitted dress, fair hair half up and wavy to her shoulders. She peered into the darkness, trying to see but knowing whoever had been beyond the light from their doorway was gone. Still, it didn't hurt to be thorough.

Sighing, she reached for her coat and slipped it on, stepping out into the darkness. She didn't wander far before her little toe in its heeled shoe whacked against something cold and hard.

"Ouch!" She cried, hopping on her good foot while trying to massage her poor, no doubt bruising, toes. But when she looked down, her eyes that had adjusted to the dark saw something that made her stop and gasp in horror.

"Oh my—Violet, Jessica, Sylvia, someone come quick! There's a boy out here and he's hurt!" She knelt down, no matter how cold and damp the pavement was, and began feeling for a pulse.

She found one.

**And that's all I'm going to give you for now. Who is this mysterious woman, and where is has Edward found himself? I hope I've piqued your interest, please let me know what you think to this start. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the response already, guys. I'm glad this has sparked some interest. Without further ado, the next chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter One:**

He woke up, groaning, to pink. Everywhere. Cheap cutesy wallpaper was tacked up all the way to the ceiling, red lampshades cast a rosy hue over the room, and he was tucked underneath an incredibly fluffy pink blanket.

"You're awake," a voice murmured from over on the overstuffed coral colored armchair. Then came a gasp as though the meaning of the words had just sunk in, and suddenly a worried, if not pretty, face appeared above him. "You're awake!" She repeated loudly.

"Ugh," was his response, head pounding at the increased volume. He brought a hand up to try and massage the temple, but started at the iciness of his fingers.

"Oh! Sorry, it's just, I was getting worried you wouldn't wake up. You almost did, earlier, but you were really just muttering in your sleep so I wasn't sure." All this he paid no attention to, for he was instead staring in morbid fascination at his fingers.

Which weren't his fingers. They were metal. But at his mere thought they would wave at him, fan out, or curl into a fist. When he thought about it, the toes—no, the whole leg—on his left felt the same way. So he was made up of metal.

Somehow, this didn't seem to bother him as much as he would have expected.

And yet, he wasn't sure what to expect of himself, for he was beginning to realize—he didn't _know_ anything about himself. He felt something against the back of his neck. He had long hair? Reaching behind himself, he found it to be true. But he couldn't drudge up a picture of it in his mind; only by the bangs hanging before his eyes did he discern the color to be blond.

"So, uh," he began when she stopped speaking, "How did I get here?" It was to realize he did not know the source of his pounding headache, dull throb in his stomach, and general soreness.

"I'm afraid I don't rightly know. You—you don't remember?" She stared at him with large blue eyes under long, full eyelashes and he could only shake his head no. "Well, all I know is you hit your head somehow. I think maybe you might have been caught by a gang. You really don't know?"

"No, I—can't remember. Anything."

She gasped and placed a hand to her heart, but he only started feeling uncomfortable when he noticed her eyes were tearing up. She shouldn't be crying for him, he didn't even feel like crying for him. He wasn't anybody; what was there to cry about?

It only got stranger when she suddenly leaned forward, enveloping him in her arms. "You poor thing!" She cooed, and he tried not to sneeze from the feathery, boa-like collar of her jacket. "You must feel so alone! But don't worry, I'm here."

It was certainly heart-warming, and he felt a little better knowing that this woman was going to help him. Yet his arms could only awkwardly move to return the hug, as though he normally didn't do so. Like it was against instinct. He only remembered his metal arm when she flinched slightly at the cold contact, and so he hastily withdrew. This also seemed to remind her of something, for she pulled back as well.

"Oh, how rude of me. You don't even know me at all! My name is Madeline, and this is my room."

"Well, hi Madeline. I don't really know how to introduce myself. I guess 'the idiot with the head injury' works." She frowned at his self-depreciatory remark, but looked to be thinking about something.

"You said, 'Al' a lot. In your sleep. Maybe, that's your name?"

"Al," he tried the name out. It seemed to fall easily from his lips, like he said it often. That was something else about him. "Al. Maybe." He tried for a smile, and it made her face light up in response.

"You're too cute!" She squealed, and he was trapped in her arms again, only able to stare helplessly at the doorway, where another woman with dark brown hair had just appeared.

"Madeline, you might as well let him breathe now that he's awake," the girl said before lowering herself quite elegantly onto the armchair. Madeline pulled back, thankfully, to address the newcomer.

"Oh, but Violet, he's such a sweetie. The poor dear doesn't know who he is!"

"That's what happens when you take a brick to the head," giggled a redhead from the hallway.

"Sylvia!" Madeline scolded, while his mouth could only drop open in shock.

"I got hit with a brick? How'd I survive!" He was lucky to be alive, never mind his memory.

"Maybe you're accident-prone. It'd explain those," Violet said, gesturing to his arm and his toes which were poking out of the cover.

"Aw, what's the matter with them? I think they look good on him," a fourth girl had joined them, and Edward could only splutter in response, face beet-red.

"Jessie!" Madeline whined at the provocative comment, but the brunette only laughed.

"I'm just teasing, _Maddie_, I know he's only a kid."

He frowned, irritated for some reason. "Am not."

Madeline only smiled warmly at the 'pout'.

"So, does our bedridden guest have a name?"

"He doesn't have anything, poor thing," she repeated, and that earned an 'Ohh' of pity from Sylvia. "We think maybe his name might be Al."

"Well, Al's not really a name," Violet pointed out.

"I know, but that's all we got," Madeline replied. She then brightened up with an idea. "So I guess we get to name him!"

"Hey—what?" He asked bewildered, but the four women seemed far too excited to bother explaining to him.

"Alex!"

"Too common."

"Albert!"

"Too formal."

"Uh…Alfred?"

"Too old!"

The four dissolved into laughter before Madeline suddenly perked up again.

"Allen! He'll be Allen! Oh, can't you see it? It's such a sweet name. What do you think?"

And he was abruptly faced with four pairs of wide, expectant eyes, watching for his opinion.

"Um…Allen. Huh. Well, I- I guess that's fine. I can't think of anything, anyway." It hardly mattered to him at this point, but it seemed to make them happy for some reason.

"Yay!" Madeline cheered, clapping her hands. "Oh, Madame!"

He turned to see who she was looking at. A final woman, considerably older than the rest, was now in the doorway. She was heftier than the others as well, and had black hair tied back in a bun. He could tell this woman was the real one in charge.

"So he's awake. Should I call a taxi to send him home?"

"Oh Madame, he doesn't have a home. At least, he doesn't remember it," Madeline explained, and the rest nodded.

"Hm, that'll be from the head injury I take it?" She asked. He wasn't sure what to think of the Madame. She wasn't overbearing or unfriendly, but she also was not as…bubbly as the rest of the girls. "Well…" the younger four all held their breath and Edward found himself doing the same. "I suppose we can't just kick him out with no memory or anything to support himself with."

"Oh Madame!" All four exclaimed, and he was suddenly being hugged by at least two of them.

"Thank you, Madame!" Madeline was saying. "We named him Allen, and he's the cutest little thing!"

Part of him was strongly offended by the term 'little', but he hardly had time to react before Sylvia pinched his cheek, giggled, and yelled,

"We have a little brother again!"

The word 'brother' had the opposite effect on him. It calmed down his ire and felt like a comforting blanket had been wrapped around him, the same feeling he'd had when he had first said 'Al'.

"It has been awhile since there's been a man of the house around here," the Madame agreed, her mouth quirked in a smirk that seemed both amused and fond at the same time. "You're wearing his old pajamas, in fact." He looked down at the old, if still comfy cotton and wondered if this other brother had been as bewildered by this strange group of women as he was right now.

He quite suddenly remembered his manners, not sure why it hadn't been the first thing out of his mouth. "Uh, thanks for helping me and letting me stay."

"Don't worry about it. You're lucky there was a doctor in the place when Madeline found you. Course, he was drunk out of his mind, but he still fixed up your head pretty good before he passed out and his mistress took him back to her place."

"Uh…" was all he could come up with, but she continued right over him.

"Once we've all gotten some sleep you can get a look around the place. Welcome, Allen. These are my daughters, Madeline, Violet, Sylvia, and Jessica. I'm Madame Christmas, and this is my bar."

OoO

Alphonse paced back and forth across the tiny hotel room they had gotten. This mission was only to have taken a few days, but then the suspect had lost them in the alleys. It had been starting to get dark and the few people outside loomed out of the shadows and followed them with their eyes. Edward had told him to go back; people were looking at the huge armor and starting to weapons hidden away in their pockets, not trusting the strangers.

He had been an idiot and done as Edward requested. It had been hours since. And Brother wasn't back.

The poor barely-teenager didn't know what to do. Did he call the police, go to the military? He didn't even know the number for the police, or where to find the station! And he wouldn't be allowed into Central Headquarters without his State Alchemist brother.

But he was wasting time with his indecision. Each moment Alphonse hesitated meant more difficulty in finding Brother. Edward could be anywhere; lost, trapped, hurt, or- or—

There was only one thing he could think to do, even if it was the least effective option. But he only knew this number.

The person who picked up on the other end tried his best to stifle the yawn, but Alphonse still heard it. "Colonel Mustang speaking, how may I help you?" He pretended not to notice the underlying threat that if it wasn't important he would be in trouble. This was very important, but Alphonse had a feeling he would be in trouble with the Colonel anyway.

"Colonel? It's me, Alphonse. Brother's missing!"

**And that's chapter one! I hope this is proving interesting, or at least amusing. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone, thanks for the great response already. I'm glad this has caught interest. So here's the next installment!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Two**

"Would you like to repeat that?" Colonel Roy Mustang repeated as calmly as possible, though he could already feel the beginnings of a migraine. Oh great, Fullmetal's first mission to Central and what did he do? Mix up the street signs, that was fantastic!

"Um…Ed's gone, Colonel. I don't know where he is."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. No sense taking his anger out on Alphonse when he had a perfectly good older idiot subordinate brother to direct it at.

"Alright, Alphonse, when and where did you last see him?" He figured he remembered the city well enough to be able to give the young boy directions back to where he lost track of Fullmetal.

"That's just the thing, sir. We were asking looking for the stolen cargo like you wanted, but we got a tip-off to this really…spooky place."

"Spooky?"

"Uh-huh." The voice sounded so tinny and small, it was almost impossible for him to keep in mind he was talking to a near 8-feet tall menacing suit of armor.

"Right," he finally said. "So, you went there, and then…?"

"Well, I was kind of nervous. There were a lot of people just standing around in the dark, and some of them had knives. I—I know they couldn't _really_ hurt me, but all those weapons made me kind of—afraid," the boy admitted, and Roy thought he was hearing a familiar tone creep into Alphonse's voice.

"That's understandable, Alphonse. Central is a big place, and sometimes not the friendliest.

"I guess. So, Brother told me to go back to the hotel, and asked me to get him something to eat, I guess so I didn't feel like I wasn't doing anything or—leaving—him."

Now he recognized it. This heavy, solemn weight to every word, this _guilt_, he heard all the time in Edward's voice. It seemed strange to hear it from the younger Elric Brother, but Roy could easily see where this was going.

"Alphonse, your brother sent you away by his own volition, and he obviously thought he could handle himself. He might be on the way back now even. How long ago did you split up?"

"Hours ago!" the boy exclaimed, and he figured if armor could cry, this would be one of those times. "It's been dark out for ages, he never stays away this long, Colonel. Something's happened, I know it!"

"Alright, calm down," he couldn't believe this was happening. His thirteen-year-old subordinate was missing in a city he wasn't even in, and his twelve-year-old brother was calling for help despite the fact that he was nowhere near the place of the incident! What in the world was he supposed to do about it? "First thing in the morning, I'll call one of my friends from the Investigations Department, if Fullmetal's still not back. That is when he will be classified as missing. He might come to talk to you to get information, so I need the name of your hotel."

"Y-yes, Colonel!" Alphonse quickly rattled off the name and number of the room, which Roy wrote down on a piece of spare paper.

"Try not to worry too much, Alphonse, as long as Fullmetal's got his head on right he can tough it out."

"If you say so, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Roy hung up the phone, yawned for real finally, and stretched, noticing he had at last completed the dreaded paperwork. The bed at home he longed for would finally be his to occupy.

And yet, when he relaxed under the sheets, he found that no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut, sleep would not come. Roy stared at the ceiling for nearly ten minutes before huffing in annoyance.

He was doing the one thing he had told Alphonse not to. Worrying.

But was there anything he could be doing to help at this late an hour? Anything that would put his mind at ease until morning? Morning…first thing in the morning.

He was dialing the familiar number and listening to the phone ring countless times before he even had time to think about it.

It was picked up at last, and a man mumbled something on the other end that Roy supposed sounded vaguely like, "Hughes residence."

"Maes, I need you to do something for me."

OoO

"Rise and shine, sleepy!"

"Ngh," he groaned, turning away from the bright light that suddenly speared through his eyelids. "Go 'way."

A giggle came from his left, not an altogether unpleasant sound. More musical than anything. And then a soft hand was gently patting his shoulder.

"C'mon, Allen. You do want breakfast, don't you?" Allen managed to sit up and blink away the sleepiness at this, and was met with Madeline's smile.

"Sure, I'm really hungry. I haven't eaten in, well—I can't remember." She laughed again, and set back to opening the curtains in the pink room, the only one he had seen so far. A bit interested in seeing the rest of this establishment, he pushed back the covers and stood up, observing the way his strange toes curled and flexed against the rug at his very thought.

"Well, let's go!" His companion grabbed him by the hand and led him out into the narrow hall, with wood paneled walls and old photographs he couldn't quite get a good look at on the way to the stairs. "That's Jessie's room back there, and Violet's, and on this side is Sylvia's, that's the Madame's bedroom, and that's where all the clutters being kept, it used to belong to—oh, mind your step, the third one creaks and the noise frightens Sylvia terribly so."

They reached a landing and came to two separate stairways. One was a rather grand and polished affair, while the other looked more rickety and well-worn.

"This one's the way to the kitchen," she gestured to the less fancy stairs, "We have breakfast there and make the food for the customers. The other stairs are to the main floor." She guided him into the kitchen where he saw Violet stirring a skillet, while Jessie, Sylvia, and Madame Christmas sat around a counter in the center of the room.

"Jessie, you're still in your curlers!" Madeline exclaimed, seemingly shocked.

"Oh, it's alright Madeline, we've got an hour yet before people start heading our way. And besides, Allen's still in his pajamas," she smiled and winked in greeting at him and he found he could only give an awkward wave in return before taking the seat Madeline directed him to.

"Don't back down, Allen," the Madame reprimanded, not even looking up from the morning paper. "If she issues the challenge, rise to it. Give her a smile just as charming."

"I—uh—"

"Madame Christmas!"

"What, Madeline? If you keep him cooped up, he'll be pretty bored I'd wager. So if he's going to be out on the floor he needs to learn the ways of a server. You know we don't coddle children here."

Madeline pouted, but backed down. Allen, meanwhile, bristled once again at being referred to as a child. It just seemed so…condescending.

"I'm not a kid," he insisted. She looked up and met his gaze, no clear expression on her face.

Finally, she said, "Good."

Violet had finished making breakfast by this time, and set down plates for each of them. He really was as hungry as he had said before, and easily devoured the food before them.

"Wow, you must have been starving!" Sylvia observed, while Madeline happily refilled his plate.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks," he said, trying a smile. She beamed encouragingly back at him, so he figured lesson one had been completed. When they had all finished their meals, the Madame set the girls to work once more, Jessica taking dishes duty, Violet sweeping out front, and Sylvia setting things up to prepare for the early lunchers.

"C'mon, let's get you something to wear," Madeline said, and he followed her back up the stairs. She opened the door to the storage room, and went to turn on the one lamp sitting at a desk.

It was a small space, a single bed pushed against the wall beneath a window that looked out over the dingy alley he had been found in. It was a view of trash, grime, and trouble. The walls were a sort of neutral beige color, and a tall, narrow bookcase stood next to a tiny closet. Madeline was rifling through the contents of the closet, but Allen stepped around the boxes on the floor to study the bookcase. It, and the shelves of books it held, was covered with a layer of dust and had obviously gone undisturbed for some time. The books looked old, and somewhat dull to the casual observer.

But Allen reached out with metal fingers to brush the dust away from the title _The Principles of Science_.

"Here we are," Madeline said, stepping back from the closet. She was holding plain black slacks, a white button-down, and a matching black vest. "This will make you look more like a worker here," she said, adding, "It's cute, too." He willed himself not to turn red as she laughed.

Allen changed while she went in search of socks and shoes for him. When she returned, they spent perhaps a minute struggling first to pull the sock on over his left foot and then to try and remove it after giving up. It had torn somehow in the process, and he apologized countless times.

"It's not your fault, Allen. I should have remembered you only had one sock on when I found you."

"I wish I could remember those things," he sighed, not very happy with his amnesia at the moment.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it'll come back to you, Allen. And besides, maybe your family is looking for you and you'll remember when you see them again."

He looked away out the window, at the spot where he had most likely been attacked right by the rusting dumpster. "I guess…I know it's kind of early to say, Madeline, but I've just got this feeling…why was I by myself back there anyway? Maybe I haven't got anyone to look for me."

OoO

Lieutenant Colonel Hughes was a strange man. Nice, but strange. He had introduced himself, invited Alphonse to dinner with his family, showed him pictures of his wife and daughter, before abruptly stopping with a sheepish look on his face, due to the fact this was a missing family member case. Normally, Alphonse would have appreciated such friendly overtures, but he just wanted to find his brother.

"Alright, so you were back at the hotel by about 8:45, yes?"

"That's what the clock in the lobby said, sir."

"Then you called Colonel Mustang at 11:30."

"Yes. I know, I waited too long, I should have—"

"It's not your fault, Alphonse," the second time he'd heard the phrase in twenty-four hours, "it was the Major's decision to send you back." Alphonse had to puzzle over that for a moment before realizing that by 'the Major' Mr. Hughes meant Edward. Normally people referred to him by name, Fullmetal in the Colonel's case, or some sort of insult in the case of bad people.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Well, myself and a few subordinates will do some digging, send a couple people out to gather any information from that part of town, eyewitnesses or the like. In the meantime, we'll be on the lookout for the Major, or anything that could lead us to him. Hopefully he'll show up on his own." The man paused, and Alphonse could tell he had something to say that he didn't really want to.

"Now Alphonse, you do understand that we can't report this to the general public. The disappearance of a State Alchemist—especially one as young as your brother—would look very bad for the military. Plus, if he's been captured, that could encourage whatever group to hold him for ransom or something worse. Best case scenario is that they don't realize who he is; we don't want to tip them off. I know this sounds—"

"It's okay, Mr. Hughes," Alphonse said, not wanting the investigator to feel uncomfortable. "I understand. Brother and I have only been with the military for two years, but we know that sometimes regulations don't seem fair. Brother knew that when he took the test. He said that it didn't matter if they put him on a leash, because he was doing it for me. So if Ed can work with military and follow the rules, so can I. I just want to find him. But I'm sure you will—Mr. Hughes?"

It seemed his words had had the opposite effect, for the grown man before him was now crying.

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks. "It's just—you've been through so much. Both of you. Your brother gave up his childhood for your benefit? That's just—what a great family. You two really look out for each other. I- I know we've just met, but I can't help but feel for you. We'll find him, Alphonse. I'd never let two wonderful brothers get torn apart like that. You've really got to come to dinner, Gracia would love you."

"Um, okay," he said, trying to appease the rather emotional man. He wasn't really sure how Mr. Hughes managed to be friends with the Colonel, the two seemed exact opposites. He Alphonse would just have to say his worry for his brother was making him lose his appetite.

He could only hope Mrs. Hughes wouldn't cry.

**There we go, I hope that the longer chapter was worth the wait. It's been a pretty busy week, so I've been working on this off and on. What did you think? Ed's going to be hanging around Madame Christmas' bar and Hughes is on the search! I'm so glad I'm writing a pre-series story, I love Hughes. I'm sorry if he seemed a little silly in that last bit, but he's Hughes. Anything involving families tugs at his heartstrings. Anyway, thanks for all your feedback for the last two chapters. I hope you enjoyed this one, and please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back with the next chapter! Thanks again for the reviews, I'm glad to see this story has garnered so much interest already.**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Three**

Allen ducked under the arm of a rather drunken man who was attempting to dance some sort of solo waltz, making a beeline for the mop behind the counter. The alcohol still left in the mug the stumbling man clutched tightly in his hand was sure to be helped by gravity to the floor any time now. Madeline was the one working at the bar at the moment, and she paused in the conversation she had been engaged in to greet him.

"Allen dearie, there you are!" She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to fiddle a little nervously with the bow tie around his neck. Violet had found it stuffed in a box only a few days ago and decided that it completed his outfit. At first he'd fussed a little at wearing it, but when he saw Madeline wiping at her eyes with a kerchief and a rare warm look on Madame Christmas' face, he had given in.

"Can I have the mop, Madeline?" He asked her, and she followed his discreet head tilt toward the man now in the center of the floor.

"Of course you can," she agreed, still all smiles for the customers, despite being as aware as he was of the headache sure to come soon. "Isn't he an angel?" She gushed to the older woman she had been talking to when Allen arrived.

"Looks like one," the woman replied.

"You're too kind," he said with a small laugh, dipping his head in acknowledgement of each woman before departing with the mop.

If asked, Allen would have to say he was living an odd life, insofar as he knew, which wasn't much. Just the snippets of conversations and stories he had from the customers who would come, stay awhile, and drift back out of the doors into the night. Most children his age were in school, and when home did their homework for the next day, met with friends and played, had a meal with their family, and were in bed by nine.

He woke up and had breakfast before getting ready with the rest for the first of the customers, along with his family. Well, he would like to think they were his family. Madame Christmas and her daughters, foster-daughters really, had taken him in, put him on his feet, and given him something to be and something to work for when he couldn't find that in himself. He couldn't find anything in himself.

While the Madame was certainly in charge of the whole place, he was gradually learning more about each of his other family members as well.

OoO

Sylvia was always happy, always willing to talk and laugh, and so easy going it was hard to believe she had ever worked a day in her life. It had taken a while for Allen to get used to her, for something in the back of his mind told him her bubbly personality should irritate him. But why?

But even those lingering defenses were quickly worn away. He soon discovered Sylvia had a kind, sensitive side to her as well.

"Sylvia, you're going to teach Allen how to balance trays. To be a server, that is crucial," the Madame spoke one slow morning.

"Okay, Madame, c'mon Allen!" She had led him into the kitchen, and grabbed two trays. "Put your hands out, palms up," she told him and then laid the trays one on each hand. It seemed simple enough, but the tray on his right hand was already beginning to wobble.

As soon as she placed just a meager plastic plate, it tipped over and banged against the ground. They tried again countless times, but always with the same result.

"Argh!" Allen finally said, throwing the things down and storming out the back door, into the alley where he had first been found. There wasn't anywhere he could go really, so he paced to the dumpster and back over and over.

"Allen," Sylvia called softly after some time, and he looked up to see her staring at him with soft eyes and a sad frown. "It's the automail, isn't it? You don't have to get angry; it's not your fault."

"You don't know that," he snapped, "No one does!" He wasn't sure what he wanted. His limbs made him odd, he realized that. But why did it have to impact something so simple? Had it always been like that, or maybe somewhere in his brain he knew how use the stupid things properly.

When she placed on hand on the metal shoulder, he stopped, and looked at her face again. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, casting his eyes down to the ground, suddenly ashamed at losing his temper with her. "I guess, it's hard for me to find balance with—"

She cut off his explanation and said, "You feel this."

"I- what?" He blinked, and then there was a sudden increase of the pressure on the metal, and he looked down to see her tightening the grip she had on the automail.

"Is that different?"

"Yeah. It's hard to describe. It's like, I feel something blocking the movement, putting pressure on it, I don't know. But I don't feel the warmth or the texture or anything like that."

"She gave him one of her bright smiles then, and said, "Okay, then we know what to do. You learn to balance the pressure."

"You think I can do that?" He didn't know the first thing about the limbs he was wearing.

"You must have before. And I'll help you. We'll practice till you get it right."

They had worked late into the night, balancing full and empty trays, walking, sidestepping, ducking, until not a drop was ever spilled. The sleepy smile on her face when the Madame deemed him a success the next morning was all worth it, and he owed it all the Sylvia.

OoO

Violet was quite near the opposite of her younger sibling. Oh, she was charming and liked to laugh and have fun, but she was more reserved and had a bit more of a temper to her. A drunken customer at the bar learned that the hard way one evening.

"Here you are, sir," Allen said, passing the man the umpteenth beer purchased that evening.

"Thanks s'boy," the man slurred, reaching out and taking the beverage. Unfortunately he also caught Allen's glove in his hand, pulling it right off and exposing the shiny metal.

Allen wore the gloves simply for aesthetic reasons. The Madame said that it looked nice, and added that it cut away awkward questions about his automail that none of them could answer. According to Madame Christmas, simplicity was the key to running a business. The less shared, the better.

This little slip-up shouldn't have been a big deal, in his eyes. But the man on the other side of the counter was staring at Allen's hand like it was diseased.

"Say Vi," he asked the brunette, "wha'sis _freak_ doing here? Hirin' from tha' junkyard?"

It had felt like a slap right to the face. He wasn't sure what to do, spiraling somewhere between shame and fury. Was that what people out in the real world thought about automail? He didn't know much about them himself, but without them he wouldn't even be walking!

What kind of asshole—

But he never even finished his thought because a lightly tanned arm reached out, snagged the mug of beer from the man's grasp, and then turned it over his head. Allen could only watch in shock, awe, and even a little bit of humor as the man sputtered and blinked widely like he'd just come up from the ocean.

"Wha' th—"

"If you have a problem with one of our servers, I suggest you leave," Violet spoke in a low, almost dangerous tone, placing an almost protective hand on Allen's shoulder. He managed to tilt his head far back enough to see a dangerous glint in her eyes.

The man scowled and slowly stood. "Fine, see iffn I evrem back here 'gin!" And he staggered rather ungracefully from the bar.

Later, Allen waited outside Madame Christmas' room, nervous and trying to hear what was going on within.

"You insulted, disgraced, and threatened a customer, caused him to leave the building with a bad experience, and wasted a perfectly good beer just because he spoke a few slurs about one of my employees."

"Yes, Madame. I'm sorry, I know that—" she paused, then continued in a firmer tone. "I don't feel that what I did was wrong."

There was a long, long wait and Allen's fear for Violet only rose with each passing second. What was Madame Christmas going to say?

"You have nothing to be sorry about," the Madame spoke at last. "Always look out for the people that you can; if you don't then you're not worth looking out for. Isn't that what I've always said?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Good girl."

He couldn't stop himself from hiding as she exited the room, sticking close to the shadows. But he knew he had to say something. Even if it was a little embarrassing that she'd had to stick up for him at all.

"Violet," he called softly, and she turned in surprise to see him. "I, uh…thanks," he finally offered, scuffing the wood floor with his shoe.

She smiled warmly and said, "Don't mention it," before disappearing into her own room for the night.

OoO

Jessica, the oldest of the four girls, had been the hardest to figure out. She was both mature, but liked to tease. In the first few days of his stay, she had used every little trick to make him speechless or spluttering, and red in the face. The Madame would only bark at him to take it and learn to deal with it, because it would only get worse from there. Sometimes he felt that learning to work in Madame Christmas' Bar was like some kind of army boot camp. At least a boot camp wouldn't have Jessie making fun of him.

He'd finally gotten fed up enough to once again take to the alley. It was one of his favorite haunts, at least in the daytime. Madeline never let him outside at night, scared that he would get attacked again, or worse.

He sat with his back to the dumpster. So he wasn't an outgoing guy. At least, he didn't think he was. Then again, who knew? It was so frustrating. But did she have to rub it in that he was a newbie who knew nothing about this kind of life?

Allen had spaced out, so when he finally saw her boots and tights in front of him, he groaned. He supposed she was here to gloat at him for running away.

"Hey, I'm sorry," she said instead, crouching down to meet him eye to eye. "I know you're mad at me, but it's just so fun; I've missed having a little brother." She ruffled his long bangs and then plopped down beside him. He felt bad for making her sit on the hard, somewhat cold ground, but she looked at ease. "I was his big sister, practically helped raise him, but I used to tease Roy like no other."

"Was that his name?" Allen asked curiously. He had actually never heard any of them speak it, and Jessie nodded with a smile.

"Yep, little Roy. We called him Roy-Boy. Once he got old enough to start acting like a boy, he hated it. He'd get so mad!" She laughed, and Allen couldn't help but to smile at her story.

"He and Maddie were the closest. She really took it hard when he went away. But it was time for him to grow up, and that's always been the Madame's dream; to raise us up out of these lives we were born into and be something. Roy's got the best shot at that, so we all pitch in as best we can. But Madeline's always wished he could've stayed here with us."

"Is that why she's so attached to me."

"Probably, but it's more than that. I think she sees you as something like a son, Allen. Maddie's always loved families."

He looked down at his gloved hands in his lap, not really sure what to say. A…son?

"I- I'm not sure if—is it okay if I don't—Madeline wouldn't want a kid like me."

"Really, what's wrong with you, Allen? And it better not be that automail, because I think our little group has shown that we don't care about that."

"It's not, it's more just a- a feeling. And, I don't know… I don't think I'd be able to call her mom." His voice sounded so small in that alley. There, a few feet before him, was where he had been lying unconscious and hurt, and Madeline had found him and brought him in. But… "If there's someone out there really looking for me, well they're waiting for their son to come home, right?"

"I think that's very wise, Allen," Jessica told him, and they sat like that until Madeline called them both in for dinner.

OoO

Roy sat, waiting, at his unbelievably clear desk. That morning, and the ones before it for the past week, he had worked, actually worked on the files and forms and stacks of papers set before him to try and pass the time between Hughes' phone calls. And then by late afternoon he would have nothing to do except stare at the damn device and try to will it with his eyes to ring.

Because Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, did not call a Lieutenant Colonel in the Investigations Department in Central to ask how a MIA case was going. Even if he wanted to.

He did know that as soon as Fullmetal was found, he would be strangled and then court-martialed for this. How could one idiot, loud-mouth, _tiny_ child cause so much damage to his nerves?

He took a long draught of the coffee Hawkeye had recently brought him, trying to calm said nerves. His anxiety was likely due to the fact that Fullmetal was an important asset to the military that had been placed under his care—_command_. Thus, if anything were to happen to said asset, the blame would fall on him. It would be a blight on his record, ruin his reputation, keep him from advancing in rank for who knew how long, and wreck his plans beyond recognition.

So, Fullmetal had to be found. Soon.

The phone wasn't even half-way through the first ring when he snatched it from the cradle, ignoring the concerned look Hawkeye sent his way. Because the Central Department was running this case, he had not been allowed to inform his subordinates of the situation. He could Roy could have ignored it of course, but the less people who knew about the situation, the less real it seemed to him.

"Mustang."

"Roy, bad news. We've found no trace of him. Alphonse hasn't been able to identify the place where they split up, so we have no trail. No criminals, gangs, or terrorists have made a statement or indicated they are holding him for ransom, no one has come forward, and Fullmetal himself has made no contact."

"Damn," he muttered.

"Yeah, I agree. The poor kid's going frantic. It's hard for me to calm him down; I can't really tell what he's thinking with that armor on. What's up with that?"

"Don't ask," he ground out, rubbing at his temples. "Something tells me that wasn't the only bad news, Maes."

"Well, they're still refusing to let the case go public," he added.

"Which is only slowing things down. There could be twenty eye-witnesses out there who just haven't been asked yet!"

"Yeah, I know. But Central's going from a different angle."

"What angle is that?"

"A train ticket with your name on it. They want you working the case, too, seeing how it's 'all your fault'."

Just what he'd feared.

"What time does my train leave?"

"Seven o'clock."

"I'm expecting a full report when I arrive."

"Of course, Colonel."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel."

"We're going to find him, Roy." They'd better.

He hung up the phone and stood.

"Sir?" Hawkeye inquired, obviously confused by the one-sided conversation and his apparent departure.

"Lieutenant, Fullmetal has gone missing in Central and I'm being pulled onto the team looking for him. I'll be gone indefinitely." With any luck, twenty-four hours at most. He could dream, anyway. "You'll be in command of the unit while I'm away. Any questions?"

"No sir," she responded promptly.

"Good, I expect you to debrief the team," He pulled his coat on and made for the door to the outer office.

"Find him, Colonel." He glanced back and could just see the concern in her eyes. How on earth in just two years had a brat like Fullmetal managed to make such an impression on his unflappable Lieutenant?

"That's my mission," he replied, and left for the train station.

**Okay, so this chapter was mostly about fleshing out the characters of Sylvia, Violet, and Jessica, because I didn't want them to seem flat or just there. They're Roy's foster-sisters, they've got to be interesting!**

**Anyway, now Roy himself is coming to Central, will he have better luck than Hughes and company locating his missing subordinate? And how is Alphonse handling things?**

**Thanks again for all the feedback from the last chapter, it's a great feeling. Hope you enjoyed reading this, and please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody, thanks so much for the reviews. I'm glad that this story has caught interest. Now let's get on with the next chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Four**

He was greeted at the station by Hughes, and was quickly led to a car where Alphonse waited in the back. The report Hughes gave was hardly different from what he had said over the phone, but it Mustang feel more like they were doing something. Turning in for the night, they decided to regroup in the morning.

"Oh, Alphonse," he said at 7:30 a.m., when he opened the door to find the young boy standing in the hallway outside his hotel room, obviously waiting. Roy felt a brief pang of guilt upon realizing that the armor was living in a constant state of worry, unable to sleep and put Fullmetal's disappearance out of mind. For Alphonse's sake, at least, he was determined to find the older Elric Brother soon.

"Good morning, Colonel Mustang. Can we go to Headquarters now?"

"Of course, I've been provided with a military car so we can drive right over." It was a quiet ride; he was unsure of what to say to the boy. Usually he was busy bickering with his subordinate who would be lounging in the passenger seat like it was his car, and Alphonse would politely ask or answer the occasional question, or be requesting that his brother be respectful. Fullmetal left quite the silence.

They strode briskly, Alphonse slightly to his right and a few paces behind, into the Investigations Department.

"Morning Roy," Hughes said, and then gestured to a large map of the city they had tacked up on one wall. Certain areas had been shaded in red. "The red spots are places where we have already been. Alphonse isn't sure, but he thinks he left his brother near the warehouse district." Roy pursed his lips. The warehouse district was a pretty tough place.

"We'll have to go further in," he decided. "If he hasn't been found by now, that means he's far into the alleys."

They took four men and two cars, heading for the backstreets. It became easily apparent why they had not made much progress yet; the people inhabiting the place, if not frightened by the soldiers, shrunk back at the sight of Alphonse's hulking form. The scant few they interviewed were not helpful at all, having seen no sign of a scuffle earlier that week involving an alchemist.

They met back at the cars. "Damn," Roy muttered, resting one elbow against the roof. "How could no one have seen or heard anything at this point? I know he's small, but Fullmetal catches notice pretty easily." He looked over at Hughes, expecting an answer. But his friend did not respond. Instead, he had a faraway look in his eyes, obviously contemplating something. When they lit up with excitement, he was all ears.

"That's it! How could we have been so stupid? I mean, normally my team is investigating—but we should have realized—so simple—"

"Maes, what?" He finally asked. "Spit it out!"

"Well, when we've pulled people aside, we've been asking them if they saw an alchemist, or military officer recently, who's blond, has automail, etcetera, etcetera. But what picture comes to your mind when you think alchemist, Roy?"

Of course. "A young to middle-aged man."

"Exactly! We've been asking the wrong question! We should have been asking people if they'd seen a young boy!"

"Simple," Roy agreed, "and you're probably right, too."

"I'll prove it," Hughes said, approaching an older woman who had just appeared out of a side-street. "Excuse me ma'am—"

"H-have I done something wrong?" She asked with wide eyes, the usual reaction. It really only showed him that things needed to change. The people should not be afraid of those working to protect them.

"Not at all," Hughes assured with one of his charming smiles. "I would just like to ask you some questions if you have the time?" The woman nodded, so he continued. Roy had come over as well to see if this really would make a difference.

"In the past week or so, did you happen to see a young boy, with gold hair and eyes, about- uh," Hughes started, but faltered as he had never met Fullmetal in his life.

"About this high," he cut in, holding his hand up to his chest. From all the times the kid had been screaming in his face about his height, he knew what it actually was. Though the boots were probably throwing him off a couple inches at least, not that it really mattered at this point.

The woman thought for a moment, and then said, "Yes, yes I think…a few nights ago, maybe? I- I don't remember exactly when. But it was very late and I had just finished the wash. I saw—out the window—a boy running past. He looked- tired, and angry—or maybe frightened? I think someone followed him, or maybe a couple people. But, I don't like to get involved in that kind of thing. Is he in trouble?" She looked mostly curious and a little sad. Things like that probably happened where she lived all the time.

"Maybe," was all he said. Hughes was more eloquent for once.

"You've been very helpful. Thank you for your time." She turned to leave, adjusting the collar of coat against the cold, late morning air.

Those gloves…

"Wait!" Roy exclaimed, and grimaced when she and Hughes jumped in fright. He hurried on regardless. "The gloves you're wearing. Did they come into your possession recently?"

She blinked up at him in surprise. "Why, yes they did. My nephew bought them for me just two days ago."

"Where did he get them?" He tried to keep the demanding edge out of his voice, reminding himself this was a random passerby and not an interrogation.

"The pawn shop. Able's Emporium."

"Thank you," he said this time, then paused. "Ma'am, we're going to have to take those. They're evidence in our investigation."

"Oh, of course," she said, obviously terrified at the prospect of getting mixed up in a military investigation. While she pulled the gloves off, Hughes pulled his wallet out.

"How much were they? We can reimburse you," he explained. Of course Hughes would bother with that. They had a lead at last, there was no time to lose. He was already in the car when Hughes left the woman. "Don't we need directions?" his friend asked.

"I know the place. Keep right behind me," he instructed. Alphonse looked at him in the rearview mirror, catching the restrained excitement in his tone. After bumping up and down quite a few pot-holes, they were stopped in front of Able's Emporium. This time Alphonse was brought with them as they entered the dim, gray building. It had been pure luck that Roy had recognized Fullmetal's gloves, after all.

Mr. Able was behind the counter, and straightened up, pulling at his shirt to look neater upon noticing them. "Good afternoon, sirs, how may I help you?"

Hughes got right down to business. "Mr. Able, we're conducting an investigation on a missing person whose possessions ended up in your pawn shop."

"Oh dear," the man's ruddy complexion paled considerably at that. "I had no idea—" he started, but Roy interrupted.

"That's not what this visit is about. We want you to tell us who sold you these," he placed the gloves on the counter between them, "and if you bought anything else from them."

Able picked up the gloves, studied them, holding them right up to his glasses and turning them inside-out. "Ah, yes, these gloves," he finally said. "Frankie brought them in. I remember them because the whole inside of the right was stained. Some kind of oil or grease, took forever to wash out. Almost gave up, but they're good and thick. No, this was the only thing I got from Frankie. But a bunch of his buddies came in with stuff the same night; it's all in a box in the back."

They followed him into the storage room and he placed a box on the table. "Most of it's junk, mind you. But those kids need the money…I never imagined they mugged a guy for it."

Alphonse didn't seem to be listening. He had opened the box and lifted out a neatly folded, very familiar red coat. "Colonel!" He knew what the boy must be thinking. Fullmetal never abandoned his coat. Ever. His black jacket and boots followed. It was a grim discovery.

"Of course, I keep the best stuff for myself," Able admitted, taking something out of his pocket. The watch. Fullmetal's State Alchemist watch. "I thought it was an old keepsake, it's broken anyway, so I couldn't sell it. But it sure is pretty, isn't it?" Roy had to resist the urge to snatch from the man's hands. "Had to pay a pretty price for it, too. Jack sure drove a hard bargain."

"Where do we find Jack?" He ground out.

The man's face fell. "You don't. Jack drove a hard bargain, but he was lousy at keeping his trap shut. He got mugged for every cenz he got from me. They found him in an alley, last night." The man's voice wavered as he said, "Bled to death."

Alphonse gasped as Hughes looked down, jaw firm yet obviously upset.

The ride back to Headquarters was deadly silent, no one wanting to voice what they all were thinking. What if Fullmetal had been mugged just like Jack? What if…

Hughes phone ringing sharply brought Mustang out of his daze, and he stood from his temporary desk.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes of Investigations speaking. Yes? Someone tried to what? You've got him? We'll be right there." He hung up to find two pairs of eyes looking expectantly at him. "Someone tried to use the Major's account to make a purchase. They're holding him for questioning.

Instead of lunch, they went to the Interrogation Room. Hughes chose to sit across from the kid chained to the table while Mustang stood to the side, glowering down at him. He was sure Alphonse was waiting right on the other side of the glass.

"So, Jerry," Hughes started, glancing up from the file he had been handed after its hasty compilation. "You got caught for using someone else's account to make a purchase."

Jerry looked incredibly nervous, a sheen of sweat already glistening on his forehead. It was obvious without even looking at his file that this was the first time Jerry had ever been caught for something. Probably the first time he'd done anything.

"It was a necklace, for my girl," he explained.

"Why'd you do it?"

"I didn't have the money myself."

"Where did you get the checkbook?" Mustang asked, not wanting to waste any more time.

"I- I, uh—"

"Jerry," Hughes said, quiet but still very firm, "stealing and fraud is a federal offense. But, you could get a lighter sentence for yourself if you just tell the truth."

Jerry fidgeted. Roy narrowed his eyes further. Jerry broke.

"Okay, so I was just hanging with the guys, having a few beers. And this kid comes by. He's a real high-horse, walking around like the big guy on the block. Jack threw something at him, empty can maybe. Nothing major. The guy flips out, says not to mess with him. And the guys didn't like that, see?" Roy could just imagine. "And one thing led to another, and then we were just chasing him down. I didn't mean any trouble, I was just following the guys, honest!"

"What happened?"

"It was an accident! I never touched the kid, honest! Frankie and Todd just gave him a shove, it wasn't their fault the brick hit him!"

It took him a moment to realize he'd gripped the edge of the table to support himself. It took him longer to say anything.

"What brick?"

"He hit a wall, I don't know, and the brick came loose off the roof or something—an accident! We didn't mean to kill him!"

"Roy…Roy?" Hughes asked, and he couldn't look up. He kept his eyes on the cold, hard table. Finally he lifted his face, and the look he sent Jerry pierced right through the kid.

"Get him out of my _sight_." He growled, and stormed from the room.

OoO

He was in the bar with that asshole again. Only this time Violet wasn't there to stand up for him. The man was jeering at him, pointing outright at his uncovered arm. But he couldn't run away, couldn't escape because suddenly his strange automail was just too heavy and he couldn't move, trapped kneeling on the floor.

"Please stop," he said to the man, pleading with his eyes. He didn't want to hear all this.

"Look at you, you freak! You're disgusting! You're despicable!" But as he kept talking, the man grew bigger and bigger, making him feel shorter than an ant, tinier than a grain of sand, smaller than an amoeba…

And when he had looked all the way up, the man suddenly wasn't a man. He was a huge, glaring, red-eyed suit of armor.

"At least you're not a _monster_ like me! I _hate_ you!" He stomped forward, closer and closer, the wood floor of the bar shaking with every thunderous step. He could only drag himself backward, slowly and painfully, red oozing and trailing behind him.

So much blood.

But he bumped into something. A pair of legs.

"M—" he turned, but it was a man in shadow and all he could see were a pair of dark eyes glaring just as fiercely.

"Weak," the man spat. "Pathetic. Fake. You think they care about you at all? You think you're worth anything to them? You're nothing; just a replacement. But you'll never replace me. You're nothing. You're not Allen, you're not Al. You'll never be anything again."

Roy brought his hand forward, poised to strike, fingers curled in the strangest semblance of a fist he had ever seen. But he was still afraid.

"No!"

Allen shot up in the little bed, panting and covered in sweat. His racing heartbeat took a while to calm down, and he stared with wide eyes at the opposite wall, bathed in the weak light of the lamp he had left on.

When he looked down, he finally realized he was sitting ramrod straight, arms up in front of him with his palms pressed flat together. Almost as if he was…praying?

Did he pray?

Allen had no idea where to start.

It was pitch-dark outside, and everyone was asleep. Allen didn't want to sleep again in his life. He cast his eyes about the room, standing from the borrowed bed—not his. At last his eyes fell on the bookcase—not his.

But Roy had left it here, hadn't he?

"_The Principles of Science_," Allen read aloud to himself, off the spine of the novel he had seen the first time he entered this room. He might as well try something.

**And there you go. I hope this chapter wasn't too rushed, and that the dream sequence was understood. Thanks for all the reviews so far guys, I appreciate it. Thanks also for reading this, and please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the slight wait everyone. You have nothing to fear, however, as the Imaginary Socks gets rather pushy if I take too long updating. I'm glad that some readers from my previous story have carried over to this one, and hope they enjoy it just as much as _The Lost Fullmetal Heart_. Of course, I'm just as happy to hear from those of you who haven't read any of my other works. It's great for motivation, and I hope to continue updating at a regular pace, but I will warn you that testing season is coming up within the next couple weeks, so I may be brain-dead. Nevertheless, on with the chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Five**

"Alphonse?" It was well into the next day before Maes approached the armored boy, and he cursed his cowardly self every moment he hesitated. A small part of him had hoped that Roy might talk to the child instead, but he realized that his friend could not even bear to look at the younger Elric, he was so ridden with guilt.

The helmet tilted up and Maes was faced with those shining, blank, almost eerie eyes. Alphonse has taken up residence in an out of the way corner of the office, sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging the metal shell to himself. He wished the boy would come out; he thought perhaps it might be easier to give some sort of comfort if he had a flesh and blood face to look at. Even if perhaps it would be more painful to see.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Hughes?" Alphonse asked, polite and quiet as ever. Amazing, that he could even consider other's needs at such a time!

"No, not at all, Alphonse. I actually wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?" He dropped to one knee in front of the armor suit, trying to get on the same level with the strange eyes. But Alphonse looked down at his hands clasped together, locking his legs in place.

"I'm not really sure, to tell the truth, Mr. Hughes. That man said…that Brother is—dead," the last word was whispered, like he didn't want it to escape into reality. "But we still haven't found him."

Maes now looked down at the ground, trying to find the right words. "We will. But, I don't think you should join us for that part of the investigation, Alphonse. Is there anywhere you can go?"

"Well, I have friends in my hometown…Winry and Granny, and Den. But I want to help find Ed, Mr. Hughes. Why can't I stay?" His head tilted a little to the side, a curious child who did not understand. Did not understand that sometimes the human body still underwent cruelties once the spark of life was gone.

"I don't want to upset you, Alphonse. But when we find the Major—Edward's body, it might be…in bad condition. Damaged."

"I know that the human body decomposes, Mr. Hughes," Alphonse assured him quietly, and Maes felt another shock at both how young and old this boy was. But he still didn't quite understand.

"Sometimes, when it takes a while to retrieve a body, Alphonse, it hasn't just decomposed. It may be damaged by—people—" he chickened out at the last second, unable to voice his thoughts to this giant and yet very small child. "The world's not always the best place, it'd be better for you not to see," he finished lamely, but it seemed more than enough. He almost wished he could take back his words.

Alphonse's eyes somehow widened behind the protection of his helmet, and he began wringing his gloved hands. "But why? Why would someone do that, Mr. Hughes? What could someone possibly want to do that for? Brother's already been through enough; I just want to find him so I can take him home with me." Though no tears fell through the eye sockets of the helmets, the poor boy made a few odd choking sounds, and then the noise could perhaps be described as anguished sobbing.

Maes, though he prided himself on being a proud, wonderful father to his little baby Elysia, he found he could do no more except to attempt a comforting pat of the arm and gain Alphonse's shaky agreement to make arrangements for travelling back to Resembool.

"What am I going to tell Winry, Mr. Hughes? She's our best friend. What if she blames _me_?"

"A friend would never blame you, Alphonse; no one could ever blame you." But the boy placed his head upon his knees and did not say any more, looking for all the world like an abandoned heap of metal. Yet a sadness and a sense of inconsolable clung to him, and Maes, ever the coward, slowly stood and left the room, feeling unable to even breathe in the dead silence.

"He doesn't beat around the bush," Roy muttered, and Maes turned to see his friend resting his back against the wall, eyes downcast. "Neither did his brother."

"You're not to blame for this either. Roy?" But his friend wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Well that's hardly true. I was his superior officer, he was my responsibility. And I failed him," he let out a sharp exhale as though his own words had punctured something deep within. "I can't even look out for my own subordinate-kid. A kid! He was barely a teenager, Maes, and I—" Roy stopped, clenching his teeth together and looking away, blinking fast, while his fisted hands shook. Even from the limited profile he glimpsed, Maes could tell those black eyes were dark with self-loathing.

"C'mon, Roy. We're getting out of here; I can't stand it." Days like these were when he felt absolutely, unbearably repulsed by his job. He couldn't wait to return to the loving, living warmth of his family. But he had something of a brother right here who needed that comfort far more, and Maes always did what he could to help out.

OoO

He was glad Mr. Hughes had left, alone at last. He felt blanketed in this silence, like a protective cocoon hiding him away from the world.

Alphonse didn't want to believe it, but he knew he had to. Brother was dead. He should accept that. But he did not know how to do so.

When Mr. Hughes had been talking, the absolute depression he felt had built up into an anguish growing stronger within him every minute, until it had become vocal. Those strange noises even he had had trouble identifying.

Alphonse had been trying to cry.

And it had made noise, it had conveyed the message that he was upset. But beyond that, his attempt to cry had not served its most basic function: catharsis. Crying, real crying, was supposed to relieve the emotion, release some of that negative energy and feeling, ultimately bringing some good to a person.

To a suit of armor, crying was just a sound. It was nothing more but a pitch that emanated deep from somewhere within him, just like any other noise he ever made. Like always, he felt nothing. No physical pain, but none of that strange but vitally essential relief craved by the grieving.

His emotions raged on inside his shell, while he projected an outside vision of unmoving melancholia. They never exhausted, never ceased to swirl within. No rest, no end, ever.

And something told him that this was how it would be until he rusted to bits.

OoO

"Maes, I feel like evil incarnate. Just drive me back to the hotel." Roy had somehow let his friend convince him to get changed into civilian clothes and take a ride out into the city. He was slumped, practically lifeless in the passenger seat, eyes listlessly watching, but not seeing, the bright lights of the neon signs or the people and cars passing to and fro. They all were no normal, so happy. Too alive for him to deal with right now.

"I won't feel right leaving you alone until I know I've pulled you out of this, Roy," Maes responded calmly at the wheel. "And I only know one way to do that."

"I hope you still know a way to pull me out of the hangover I'll have tomorrow," he muttered eventually.

Maes gave a wry grin, though it lacked any humor. "I think I remember that."

OoO

"Allen?" He didn't notice Madeline had been calling until she finally splayed her hand over the pages of the book.

"Oh, sorry, I was just—"

"It's okay, I'm glad you're interested in learning, but Sylvia's shift is almost over, and you've got to head downstairs to take her place, okay? You can read what's-it-called later."

"_The Principles of Science_, Madeline, it's really good. I don't really get half of it, but I'd like to someday." He paused and shot her a nervous glance before focusing back on tying his shoes. "It's okay that I borrowed it, right?"

"Of course, no one else here reads it. I always thought it was a waste of time myself."

"I know, but, it's _Roy's book_, isn't it?" He chanced another look and saw her pulling a confused, but still kind face.

"Yes, but why should that matter?"

"No reason. It's just- I sometimes get the feeling that I'm, I don't know, filling in for him. But I don't want to take anything that isn't really mine or- or—" He stood and was suddenly wrapped up in her arms again. It was a testament to how often this happened that he didn't tense up too bad any more.

"Oh Allen," she said, a smile in her voice, as she rubbed his back in a soothing circle. "You're not taking anybody's place. You have your own place here, in this family and in our hearts. You don't have to fill in for anyone, or feel like you need to do all the things someone else did. Just be you." She pulled away, but held onto each of his upper arms, to study his expression and be sure he understood. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling the smile on his face more than directing it there.

"Now let's get down there and serve some customers." He followed her readily down to the main floor, leaving his book to be finished some other time.

OoO

"If we're going for drinks, do you have to torture me, too?" He couldn't help but ask when Maes parked.

"Family is not torture, Roy," his friends sounded more exasperated than amused, and he felt just that little bit more guilty for insulting him. "It'll be good for you. How many times do you just 'drop by' anymore, huh?" Maes was right, as always.

"Lead the way, then," he said, eager at least to blot the past horrendous days from existence.

**Stopping there. I hope it wasn't too overly depressing; I don't want to bog people down. It's okay though, I think you all know what's coming next chapter…**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Over thirty reviews? I'm so thankful. Reading what you all have to say is probably one of the greatest parts of writing fanfictions, I'm really honored. As a thank you, here's the chapter you've been waiting for!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Six**

As Allen appeared behind the counter, Jessie was calling out to two dark-haired men making their way to the corner table, "I'll have the usual sent over!" The one in glasses gave a nod of acknowledgement before turning his attention to his companion who was slumped in the booth, facing the wall. "Oh dear," Jessica murmured under her breath, placing one hand to her waist while shaking her head sadly.

"Something the matter, Jessie?" Allen asked, a little curious as to why she seemed to be worrying about the newcomers.

"Oh? Nothing, Allen," she said, offering him a smile. "I'm just going to need you to take some drinks to that table. He's not in a mood that will improve with alcohol, though," she added, reaching for a bottle of some of the stronger stuff they served.

Allen glanced again at the corner table, his interest piqued, before looking back at her. "How can you tell? Are they regulars?" It was possible; he hadn't been there too long. Jessica shook her head, although there was a strange quirk to her lips. She sent him off without explanation, however, and he took the bottle and two glasses to their table.

They both seemed to be sunk into a gloomy mood, more likely here to drown sorrows than anything else. Allen managed to keep his smile from slipping. These kinds of customers always made him uneasy; for some reason, he felt like he was supposed to be depressed like the rest of them. It was silly, of course, he had no real reason to be sad.

"Good evening, sirs, here's something to start off with," he said upon reaching the table, placing the glasses on the polished wood and beginning to work the bottle cap off. It was one thing his automail arm was good for.

The spectacled man lifted his head with an almost amused twitch of the lips. "I didn't know they'd hired neighborhood kids—Roy?"

For the other man had gone rigid at Allen's words. At his voice. Suddenly Allen found his movements arrested as the second man whipped about and grabbed each of his arms, both metal and flesh, staring at him with wide, dark eyes. If he wasn't bringing their first drink of the night, Allen would have guessed the man was already intoxicated.

He stared, a little fearful, and the first man's eyes flashed back and forth between them behind his glasses.

"E—Fullmetal!" There was shock, disbelief, perhaps joy, and yet also anger in the tone. "What- how- why—" The man paused seemingly at a loss for words, but then irritation crept into his expression at Allen's lack of response. "What have you been _doing_?"

Allen finally had the presence of mind to pull away from the very odd and potentially crazy man, backing up a few steps. If the place were crowded he would have likely bumped into someone, but as it was late into the evening, the bar was closer to empty than full.

"Excuse me sir, but I really have no idea what you're talking about, or where you get off asking me that, for that matter." What kind of guy almost assaulted a server and then interrogated them, anyway? "I'm just going to leave this with—" He was going to place the bottle on the table and then retreat back to the counter, but Glasses spoke up again.

"Hang on, Roy…this is?"

"Fullmetal, yes," he snapped at his friend, and Allen couldn't help but notice that strange name again. Were they calling him that? "And he better have a good explanation for—" The man started to growl, before being interrupted.

"Roy-boy!" Madeline exclaimed from behind him, and now the black-haired man was definitely annoyed, a twitching eyebrow being the obvious clue. But it suddenly made sense; the other man had called him Roy as well. So this was Madame Christmas's first foster-son? Was he mad at Allen for being here?

"Madeline," Roy ground out, "I've told you not to call me that, especially not in public."

"Then I suggest we take this somewhere private." The whole group turned to see the Madame, looking disapproving with her hand on her waist much like her eldest foster-child had only minutes before. "You're making a fool of yourself." Roy seemed to duck his head a little, but rose with sufficient dignity, his friend following suit. Madame Christmas started to lead them to the kitchen, before turning back again. "You too, Allen."

"C'mon, Allen," Madeline encouraged, placing a hand on his shoulder. Roy's eyes widened for a moment, surprised. It was all Allen could do, however, to simply follow the Madame and wonder what on earth was going on.

OoO

These past few days all seemed to be vying for the Number One Weirdest Day Award. Today, however, was definitely the winner. His subordinate was dead, Hughes was the one to suggest going out for drinks, and their server ended up being his dead subordinate who was here of all places and not seeming to find that strange at all. And who was Allen?

It felt odd to be gathered around the old kitchen table; uncomfortably childlike. Violet had looked up from her cooking at the sound of their approach, had taken in the obviously tense atmosphere, and settled for a wave and a smile, which he returned with a curt nod.

The Madame presided over them of course, at the head of the table, while Hughes took the seat to his right, and Madeline and Fullmetal sat across from them. Now that he had time and had gotten over the initial shock, at least, Roy took a moment to actually _see_ his subordinate.

Till this point he'd really only focused on Fullmetal's face, and his voice, that was the first thing he had heard, that had alerted him to the actual, _living_ presence of the boy. But now that he really took him in, it was like the most surreal blast from the past he had ever seen. The kid was wearing his old clothes! Sure, he realized they had discovered the majority of his belongings, meaning they were stolen from him, but usually Fullmetal just went out, got some new material, and replaced whatever had been destroyed or lost.

And for that matter, why hadn't Fullmetal made contact with them? Didn't he realize how much they—how much Alphonse had been worrying?

"Now, Roy, just why were you causing a commotion in _my_ bar?" The Madame raised one eyebrow carefully at him. It took years of practice and mental training for him not to flinch. He decided to simply start from the beginning, especially since Fullmetal was acting irritatingly oblivious.

"I've been in Central on a Missing Person Investigation. The subject was my subordinate, a State Alchemist, so the information was kept from the public to avoid a panic." His eyes flitted again and again to the boy's face, waiting for some kind of recognition to pass across it. Normally he could read the kid like an open book, but all Fullmetal was showing was simple curiosity and a little confusion. What the hell was going on?

"We had gotten a confession that confirmed the target as killed-in-action," Hughes picked up for him and Roy was somewhat grateful. He wasn't really sure how he had been planning to say that, even if Fullmetal was sitting right there to prove the statement's inaccuracy.

"So you came here," The Madame accurately guessed, and they nodded. "So why exactly did you accost this boy?" She had the uncanny ability of sounding like an irate general, or perhaps a judge.

"My missing subordinate was the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric," Roy said, and paused before saying, "This is him." He nodded to Fullmetal himself, who looked honestly shocked. Was the kid trying to get him as mad as possible or something? "You have anything to say for yourself?"

OoO

Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. That…was him?

He wasn't even totally sure what an alchemist was, let alone a 'Fullmetal' one. He didn't feel like an alchemist. He didn't feel like Edward Elric.

Now he wasn't sure if he felt like Allen anymore, either.

Edward Elric sounded…heavy. And sturdy. And full of…something. Full of metal, perhaps? If that was what that meant?

Allen sounded like nothing much in particular. A simple thing, that neither owned or was owned.

Allen was a leaf in the stream, content to let the current of life carry him to whatever destination. Edward Elric was an anchor, buried stubbornly in the ground deep under the sunny surface and refusing to be budged. Slowly wearing away under so much pressure.

Edward Elric had worn away and become Allen. And now someone was calling on him to remember to be Edward Elric.

But Allen wasn't sure he knew how.

OoO

Fullmetal gave no response, just stared ahead and looked lost deep in his head somewhere. Roy was about to speak again, but Madame Christmas beat him to it.

"You can't expect him to answer for anything. He doesn't remember."

"What?"

"Madeline found him collapsed with a head wound. She brought him in here, and when he woke, he could not recall anything. He's been living here ever since."

"Right," Hughes reasoned, "she must have showed up after the gang robbed him and split. There would have been no identification on him, so you had no reason to call it in to the military."

"That's correct. Kids get into fights in this town all the time. The authorities don't want to hear about it. And I don't want them poking around my bar. It's your fault for keeping this whole search hush-hush." She snorted, both in amusement and disdain.

Roy had been watching Fullmetal, waiting for some kind of sign that he understood, or that he remembered. Anything. "Well," he began after some time, "I guess we should ta—"

"I can't believe you," Madeline seethed, and he turned to see her normally happy face dark and narrowed in anger.

"Wha—"

"He's a child, Roy. A child! And you're telling me he's your subordinate, part of your precious military? A State Alchemist, a _dog_? This innocent boy! And you're just fine with it! How could that possibly be okay to you? How can you live with yourself?" He had no answer to any of it. "Allen—he- he's just a _baby_!"

She was crying now, but he was sure of himself when he said, "He is not." He was shocked that Fullmetal had not answered her himself, but the boy was merely watching the exchange back and forth, absolutely silent. That was when it really sunk in for him; this wasn't Fullmetal. This wasn't even Edward. This was Allen. And somehow that made him feel just as awful as when he'd thought the kid was dead.

"Well," Hughes said after no one else said anything, "we should be going back with uh- Fullmetal to Headquarters. He needs to—"

"He's _not_ going back!" Her eyes were shining wet, but Madeline was adamant. "He almost died because of your military, I won't let you take him!"

"That's not up for you to decide, Madeline," Roy finally asserted, leaning forward toward her and stern. "Fullmetal is under _my_ command, he is—"

"Why don't we let him decide then?" Hughes, ever the peace-maker, suggested. They all turned to Fullmetal, who merely looked frightened and absolutely on-the-spot. Nothing at all like the tough, take-charge teenager he knew.

"I, uh," his gold eyes darted about a bit, before he took a deep breath and calmed. "Well, it's true that I do like it here. The Madame and Madeline and everyone—they're all really nice, and I feel really welcome. So I don't think I want to leave. But," and Roy started to feel some hope at last, "I do want to know who I was—uh, am. I think I'd want to know, anyway. So maybe we could talk or something?" He was the picture of uncertainty. It was unsettling.

"Sure," Hughes answered for them, giving a gentle smile. "We'll come back as soon as we can."

Madeline stood, visibly upset, and went for the stairs leading to the rooms. Violent looked after in concern, and when the Madame nodded, hurried after her foster-sister. Fullmetal also looked somewhat worried about the young woman, yet another odd expression to see on the boy's face.

Roy and Hughes showed themselves out, and walked back to the car, still completely sober. Now, more than anything, he needed a drink. But it was not to be.

"What's wrong with him, Hughes?" Roy sighed, combing a hand through his hair in frustration while his friend started the engine. "He was like a blank wall, like a cardboard cutout of a person! He's alive, I should be satisfied with that. But I'm not. Headquarters won't be either; that kid isn't Fullmetal."

"You're right, Roy. Because he doesn't remember anything from being Edward, and Edward was what made Fullmetal. Not the other way around. Without his memories, he's just a kid. Names, dates, places, the more tangible things, are forgotten. But so are thoughts and feelings, Roy. He won't be a military asset until those return. He won't be who you, or Alphonse, knew either."

"The question then is: how do those return?" Roy asked after a long moment of silence. That silence resumed itself, as neither man had an answer.

**Stopping there for tonight. I hope this chapter lived up to expectations. So they've found Ed! Now, how do they make him Ed again? Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**42 reviews? Wow, you guys are amazing! I'm so glad you all find the story interesting, I was worried at the outset that this wasn't that different from a lot of other fics out there, but your responses have proven my doubts wrong. Thank you all, and here's a new chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Seven**

"Mr. Hughes, I don't really understand," Alphonse said quietly, physically towering above them both but seeming smaller than anything at the moment. "You said I should make arrangements to go back to Resembool, but now you think I should stay?"

Hughes glanced back to double check with him, and then nodded. "Yeah. We just- we think that we should be able to find the Major soon, and we thought you would want to bring him back with you. We're trying to make this as easy as possible for you, Alphonse."

"Oh, thank you. I guess I'll just stay here, then." Roy's eyes swept the hotel room; aside from Alphonse's station sitting on the one chair, the room looked as though it hadn't been disturbed for days, which it probably had not. It seemed Alphonse wanted to try and preserve his brother's memory in any way possible. Even now, the banged-up suitcase was lying where it had been tossed onto the single bed, making it seem as though Fullmetal had just stepped out for a moment and would be back to unpack. He wished it were the case.

"Don't hole yourself up in here, Alphonse," Hughes was saying, patting the armor's arm sympathetically at the elbow, which was where he could comfortably reach. "Stop by for dinner any time you want, you're perfectly welcome in my home."

"Oh, I couldn't do that, Mr. Hughes. But thank you."

The two officers left, not speaking until they reached the stairs.

"I feel awful," Hughes finally remarked.

"Me too," Roy quietly admitted.

"I mean, I feel like I kicked a puppy that was just hit by a car. And then kicked it again."

"Yes, thank you Hughes," Roy pinched the bridge of his nose, not really needing that imagery in his head.

"It's depressing. He's about as low as anybody can ever get, and we both know that he doesn't really have to be sad." They stepped out of the hotel and into the sunlight, Roy lifting a gloved hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"It's for the best, Hughes. Unless you feel like heading back up there to tell him, 'Yes Alphonse, you're brother's alive, he just doesn't remember you or any of his other loved ones or even his name.' Go right ahead, I won't stop you."

"Okay, sheesh, you know I agree with you, no need for the sarcasm," his friend grumbled, sliding once more into the driver's seat once they reached the car in the parking lot. "I hate when you spend all your time in the archives, Roy. You get grumpy."

"Grumpy?" He retorted, "Well I'm sorry that I've been spending all my time looking for studies or research done on memory loss, which is little to none I'll have you know, while you go home to Gracia and Elysia at a decent time every evening, and I haven't been on a date in two weeks! All because of that brat of a subordinate!"

"No one's telling you to stay past your shift, Roy," Hughes muttered, but he decided to ignore him. He was determined to blame this on Fullmetal. When they finally got his head back on straight, there would be hell to pay.

He and Maes had had a difficult few days after their discovery of the missing Elric Brother. Since it was officially recorded in an interrogation that Fullmetal was killed-in-action, Hughes had had to 'lose' the paperwork in the system. If the papers were to end up on the Führer's desk to sign, the teen would be legally dead, have no claim to his State Title, his license as a State Alchemist, his finances, and a whole more headache of troubles. And since he was a minor, Roy was sure he would be forced to wade through the mess for him. And he did not want that paperwork.

And now Roy was searching through book after essay after study after experiment after reference material after anthology after encyclopedia for any way to restore damaged memories. Unfortunately as they had a primarily military-based country, there wasn't much to go off of. Because Fullmetal's amnesia was head-injury induced, there appeared to be no quick-fix solution. Hopefully his body was healing whatever physical damage was caused to it, and then they could focus on the actual mental aspect of it.

They did not want to take the boy to the hospital because they were worried that the military would either stamp him as fit for duty, which he most certainly was not, or simply discharge him as a lost cause. And if Fullmetal ever did get his memory back after that, Mustang was sure he would never be forgiven.

And he had decided long ago that those boys _were_ going to achieve their goal.

OoO

It had startled him at first, but he had become increasingly impatient for their return. Those two men had merely dropped a name—Edward Elric—and a title—Fullmetal. But most importantly, they had given him a purpose.

Alchemist.

After that night, he had become a voracious reader when he discovered the word 'alchemy' on the covers of most of Roy's books. So they shared a purpose, then. That was something, a connection he could draw, between Edward and Roy.

With mesmerized eyes his metal finger traced a sentence heavily underlined by a boy with short, black hair in his youth: "Alchemist: Be thou for the people."

An alchemist was for the people. Edward was for the people. He liked the sound of it.

Madeline did not. Once, when he was reading a passage aloud to Sylvia, she had scolded them for wasting time and set them to cleaning the kitchen. He read the books in his room, alone, from then on.

He didn't mean to upset her. But he also didn't understand why she wasn't happier for him. He questioned her about it one night when they were closing up the bar.

"Of course I'm happy we've found out who you are. But, I worry; the military isn't a safe place, Allen."

That brought up a whole other slew of questions. What sort of military employed teenagers? What sort of teenager was allowed to join the military? Why had he even joined the military? These basic things that Edward understood perfectly he was having trouble just identifying. But until Roy and his fellow officer returned, it was all he could do.

What stuck out to him the most of what Madeline had said was actually not that unusual. She had said it every other day he had been here: 'Allen'. He was not Edward Elric in her eyes. That was okay, he didn't see himself as Edward Elric, either. Not yet. But he could no longer picture himself as Allen. He was not Allen, or even Al.

It made him wonder why the name had been so important to him, that it troubled his forced-unconscious mind that first night. Troubled him enough to make it verbally known, even trapped in sleep. Perhaps it had not been a name at all; it could have been the beginning of a word. Alchemy, for example, or alchemist. And yet something in him felt that it had been a name.

He left the desk for a moment, far from being able to concentrate on reading, and moved to the open window. The temperature had begun rising, and so the moderate evening air was not too warm or chill.

"Who are you, Al?" he murmured into the night, almost wishing it would answer him back.

OoO

He tried not to feel hurt that he was being ignored by his own foster-sibling, not to mention first best friend.

"How is he doing, Madeline?"

She did not look up as she swept the rag in large circles over the already gleaming bar top. "Allen's fine. Of course, all he does now is read those old books of yours. I don't even know why we've kept them. Surely you have room in your own home?"

"I hadn't really thought of them, my apologies," he replied smoothly, certainly keeping his temper better than her. Honestly, it was ridiculous, even Madeline should realize there was nothing personal about this current issue. If it were any other bar, he could have taken Fullmetal, stowed him away to Hughes's, and then dealt with the memory crises. But no, here at Madame Christmas's, everything had to be difficult. At least, that was how he was remembering it at the moment. "I'd like to speak with him. If you could bring him down, I'd be grateful."

"I'm busy right now."

"Then let me do this for you, I think I remember how." Roy placed his hand over hers, effectively stopping any movement. That was when she finally snapped her eyes up to his face, staring stubbornly back at him, before finally pushing away from the bar. She gave an exaggerated huff as she gathered up her skirts to ascend the stairs. He took a seat at one of the unoccupied stools to wait.

"She's not trying to make you angry at her," Violet commented as she mixed a customer's order, placing it on Sylvia's tray.

"Really? She's doing an excellent job at it, in my opinion." Roy found himself in yet another stare-down, but he was the one to look away after Violet placed a single hand to her hip as if challenging him to disagree with her. It was the one move that all of Madame Christmas's foster-daughters had learned to emulate that would look absolutely ridiculous if performed by her foster-son.

"You know she's always seen this place as a safe-haven. In Mad's perfect world, it'd just be us all together and happy. Maybe it's not ambitious, maybe it's not realistic, but you can't blame her for having a dream."

"No, no I can't," he admitted.

"You've never gone along with it, though. First you left to go train under that crazy old man and never came back. Now she's finally found—not a replacement, but something even more; a boy, a child to be a mother for. But then you come in and say he's already yours."

"Hold on just a minute, I never said anything of the sort," he protested. Trust his siblings to get carried away.

"Sure you did, I heard you," she countered, just as determined as ever.

"Well then I hate to tell you this, but I think you might want to see a doctor about your hearing," he quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. Violet pouted as he heard a bubbling laughter behind him, signaling the Sylvia dive-bomb into the conversation.

"Oh, Roy. You have to look at it from Maddie's perspective! You said he was your subordinate under your command; to Madeline, that's like saying: He's my son and _I'm_ the one taking care of him." She said the last part in a rather poor imitation of his voice, but Violet laughed with her nonetheless. If she had been mimicking anyone but him he might have cracked a smile.

As it was, "I can't be held accountable for whatever nonsense subtext she comes up with in her head. If you all want to read more into it, I can't stop you. But I'll say this once: Fullmetal—"

"Uh, you wanted to see me?" He turned to his right to see the boy standing at the bottom of the stairs, that innocently curious look on his face again. It was really quite odd.

"Yes, we need to talk about some things," he replied.

"The booth's empty, c'mon!" Sylvia said, grabbing two waters and leading them to the corner booth.

"Right," Roy said once they were both sitting, running things over in his head before continuing. "First off, what sort of progress have you made?"

"Not much," Fullmetal replied, obviously disheartened. That was troublesome. Usually the young alchemist attacked any and every problem with a determination that put all others to shame. "Your books- they're _interesting_ to me, but nothing seems familiar."

"I see. Well, you need to keep working at it. We can really only keep this secret for so long. You've definitely got brains, Fullmetal. Wrack them."

"Um, yes sir," he replied, sitting just a little bit straighter in the booth. Roy couldn't help it, he stared. "What?"

"This is worse than I thought. You called me sir."

"Well, isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" Fullmetal scrunched up his brow in confusion, clearly wondering what exactly it was he had done wrong.

"Yes—but, no. Fullmetal never calls me sir, and he never listens to me, for that matter. So work on that."

"Sure—" he stopped, then asked, "Wait, so I _shouldn't_ work on that?"

Roy could feel a headache coming on. "Don't be difficult about this."

"Well you're making it difficult!"

It sounded more like an excuse and more desperate than usual, but there was the beginning of something there: defiance.

"Exactly," he said, unable to stop a satisfied smile. Fullmetal stopped, seemed to realize what had happened, and then slowly nodded.

"So all those times where I sort of felt irritated, I normally just get mad?"

"That about sums it up."

"Wow." There was a pause. And then, "What a relief! I mean, I don't want to be a jerk, but half the time I just want to punch a wall when I'm done with my shift. Being nice and polite and _smiling_ all the time, it just feels…so fake."

Roy did have to nod at this little piece of philosophy. Fullmetal had yet to master the political mask that nearly every soldier wore, that distanced the emotions from reality. When he was happy, he wasn't just pretending or acting, he was happy. It was absolutely genuine. And little made Edward Elric happy.

"So is there anything else I should know or whatever?"

He thought. While Roy was not eager to bring up the subject of Fullmetal's brother, not wanting to instigate that no-doubt traumatic meeting just yet, was there anything else he could think of right now?

Aside from alchemy and Edward's rough outer exterior, what else did he know about his young subordinate? The other men, and woman, in his unit he knew almost as well as himself. This lack of knowledge, or understanding was troubling to say the least.

"Not right now. I need to be getting back to work. Keep doing what you're doing." He stood and left the bar, still mulling over his thoughts.

**Okay, so this is getting kind of long. I'm going to stop here for the night. Thanks again for all the great reviews so far, guys. I'm glad you all like this. Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, _so_ sorry. It's been forever, and I feel really badly about that. No one wants to read my excuses, so I'll just sum it up quickly: standardized testing, illness, research paper, work, make-up schoolwork, musical rehearsals, and trying my hand at writing the script for a musical. And Tekkoshocon. Please don't be mad at me for going to Tekko instead of updating. Anyway, thanks so much for all your reviews these last few weeks, and here—finally—is the next chapter!**

**Chapter Eight**

He was such a jumbled mess. During the day, Allen would be out and about tending to the customers and trying to keep Madeline happy. But in the evening, Roy—_Colonel Mustang, _he reminded himself—would visit, expecting to meet with Edward Elric. The problem was he couldn't seem to be either, and he could see the almost identical disappointment in the foster siblings' eyes.

It was so unbelievably frustrating. He wasn't asking them to take his place, but couldn't they try to see, to imagine what it was like for just a minute? Nobody seemed to understand, not even himself.

It was only late at night and into the early morning that he ever had time alone to himself, but even then he shared it with the shadows of the night. It was as though they were changing, swirling with his confused thoughts and occasionally forming sharp spikes, claws, reaching arms, tendrils, to hang over him and keep him awake. What sort of demons were waiting for him to remember them again? Allen wanted to just curl up and squeeze his eyes shut against it. Edward Elric opened another book.

He would be finished reading what Mustang had left behind soon. And then what? He had had no luck simply wracking his brain for memories. He felt no sudden surging of remembrance. Would Mustang and Hughes give up on him, leave him at the bar with Madame Christmas, Madeline, and the others, because he was of no worth to them, not being Fullmetal?

He knew one thing; what he had confided to Madeline some time back had been half-correct. There had been people looking for him, but not family. Even Edward Elric was on his own, for Mustang and Hughes seemed to be the only ones from his past bothering to make him _him_ again.

He worried about what he would do when he no longer had any books to read. The books were a steady goal, something to work towards, and when that was gone what then? When he had any idle time, the growing bags under his eyes seemed to weigh down, his automail was simply too heavy to lift, and he couldn't think of anything to do. He felt there was nothing he could do.

What was the point of his existence? An alchemist who could barely understand alchemy, an innocent server who was really a child soldier, a boy wasting everybody else's time and energy. He marveled at how much they seemed to waste on him. As the days went by, he only felt more and more exhausted and depressed.

"Are you going to eat, or just stare at it all day?" He raised his eyes to meet the Madame's scrutiny.

"I was just thinking. I'm not that hungry anyway," he started to push his plate forward and she arched a dark eyebrow.

"Just like you haven't been hungry this whole week? Eat or don't, it's your choice. But you haven't been thinking, you've been chasing the same dark, over exaggerated nonsense around in your mind again and again. Take the trash out to the dumpster, the fresh air might do your head some good."

He sighed and grabbed the two trash bags. It was a pointless job for a pointless person; no one almost ever collected the trash from the dumpster out back, Jessie had said once. It was just carting garbage out to an even bigger pile of garbage.

He used his right arm to throw, as poor as it was with motor skills it had quite the power behind it. And still, some of the pile was displaced and fell to the ground. Sighing in frustration, he bent to clean up the mess he had made. Did Edward Elric ever manage to do anything right? Would he—

He stopped, for the fingers of his left hand had brushed something different from a plastic bag; it was the leather spine of a book. He picked it up properly, only to discover that it was a handwritten journal. But there was something about it…

He finished the task Madame Christmas had appointed to him and went up to his room, all the while contemplating the little book that he held. It was old and battered, the dates in the corner showing that the person writing it had begun it years ago, when he was only a child.

He sat at Roy's childhood desk to examine it fully. What he first noted was that it was a collection of oddities. It started off as some notes jotted down about basic alchemic principles, ones he recognized from the books he had read. Then the diagrams—arrays—began. At first they were squeezed into the margin or the bottom of the pages, and then there were whole pages devoted to certain circles, redrawn again and again to perfection. There were names of elements as though it were a shopping list or a recipe. This person was making something, something big, and then—

And then on the third of October, year 1910, someone new began writing in the journal. It was the only explanation. For one thing, there was a gap of near a year between this entry and the last. For another, the handwriting was completely different. While the early entries had started as scribbles reminiscent of a child and gradually worked out to a smooth, neat hand, this new writing was jerky, pen dark against the page showing a great amount of force had been applied. Finally, the entries themselves were vastly different in content. Now they simply read as a normal journal.

_"3. Oct. 10. We left Resembool tonight, and are on the train to Eastern City where we have to report into Headquarters. It'll be my first day on the job, and I'm planning to give it my all. We're heading into unknown territory, but I'm sure we'll find our way in this new place. We have to._

_ Al—"_

He stopped, staring blankly at the page. Al. Could it really be that great of a coincidence? He flipped to the inside cover, squinting at the smudged and faded writing. It was hard to tell, but he was almost certain, in the writing of the first were the words,

_"Property of Edward Elric"_

But the second style of writing had added beneath more recently,

_"The Fullmetal Alchemist"_

He had found his own journal? There was only one way to find out. He took in pen and flipped to the first blank page, writing the date in the dim lamplight. He then examined. His own writing matched that of the second type, but not the first. What about his writing had changed? He hesitated, and then continued to write.

_"Who am I? Why can't I remember? I need help."_

Nothing that anyone had tried so far was working. Perhaps, if he couldn't remember on his own…he would let himself remind him. He flipped back to the first journal entry and began to read his words.

OoO

He sat in the hotel roomwondering how it had come to this.

Roy had attempted to dig up what he could find on Edward Elric, what he liked or disliked, what he did when not on missions, who his friends were, and the frustrating thing was that he could barely find enough to fill a page.

Most of what he had written down were obvious things that everyone knew, like his insecurity about his height or his obsession with alchemy. What really gnawed at him was that there was someone who could answer those questions perfectly in a hotel room just a few blocks away. But he still couldn't bring himself to tell Alphonse.

So Roy had instead called up his team and covertly made them aware of the situation. They were all willing to help and did their best to compile a list of noteworthy traits or anything they had noticed about the boy, but it was still very little.

Havoc noted that Fullmetal hardly seemed affected by cigarette smoke, but seemed disapproving and frankly grossed out when the men started talking about women. This indicated some familiarity with tobacco, and yet the instilment of moral, even gentlemanly, values in him. Despite how much the angry, shouting teen begged to differ.

Fuery mentioned that though Black Hayate always tackled the boy to the ground whenever they met, the young major seemed to be very good with dogs, and somewhat fond of them, too.

Breda recalled that Fullmetal could pack away large amounts of food, but often went days without it when he buried himself in the library.

Hawkeye brought up the first time she had ever fired a gun in Fullmetal's presence. The boy had leapt as though he had been the one hit, looking widely from the barrel of her weapon to the man lying on the ground moaning in pain. He never said anything, but just stood there a long time even after the man was taken into custody, staring at the blood.

But it was Falman who brought up the two most interesting things of all. The first of which was quite simple and had Roy kicking himself for not noticing. Whenever Fullmetal felt threatened, uncertain, or even scared if he ever was, he would bring his left hand up to his right shoulder. Roy wasn't sure what it meant, but it was an intriguing habit.

The second observation he had more trouble believing, but as he thought about it more and more Roy had to admit Falman could be right. Fullmetal hardly looked Alphonse fully in the eyes. Ever. That held even bigger implications. What was causing this strange aversion to his brother? Certainly not any sort of anger or hatred, Fullmetal was devoted almost entirely to Alphonse.

Roy didn't really have answers. He wasn't sure who to go to for them. Hell, Fullmetal might be the only one who truly knew. If that were the case, it was looking like those questions might never be answered. But one thing was for sure. Roy had fallen behind in his duties.

He had looked at Fullmetal as simply a step to gaining the next promotion, at first. He had never dreamed the young alchemist would be placed so directly under his own command, and thus he had been somewhat unprepared. Combining that with the boy's brash attitude, he had truthfully brushed him aside as an obnoxious, yet brilliant, military asset.

But gradually he had been beginning to learn more and more about his subordinate. Just small things, like how he wrote with his left but punched with his right or how he tuned out the whole world while reading. There were curiosities about Edward Elric that could not be explained away with a tough outer shell.

Even this "Allen" persona had to come from somewhere within the boy, didn't it? Roy was no expert on psychology, but he felt fairly certain about that. Everything that Allen did or said came from the same brain.

Roy was realizing he was starting to get sucked into something bigger than a missing person case. He not only wanted to find Edward Elric, but he wanted to find out what made him that way. He wanted to know more than just Fullmetal.

He wanted to know Edward.

No, he wasn't caring too much.

OoO

Maes followed Roy quietly up the stairs. They were being let in to visit while Madeline was out buying groceries to restock the kitchen, as the rest of the sisters were hoping to avoid another confrontation. That was fine by him; he hated to see families fight.

So he waited patiently as Roy knocked on the door, but couldn't help the feeling of nervousness when no one responded. He could see it in his friend, too, by the clenching of the jaw, the narrowing of the eyes, and the spastic twitch of his fingers.

"Fullmetal," Roy called through the door. "Edward," he tried after a moment. Finally, impatience and worry overcame politeness and the black-haired colonel pushed open his childhood bedroom door.

The bed was still freshly made, for no one had slept in it the previous night. Instead, its intended occupant paced back and forth across the room, hair disheveled, bow tie askew, and looking nothing like the meek, innocent boy Maes had last seen.

Golden eyes snapped up to catch them standing in the doorway, and something shone in them, like a molten fire, that he had never seen before. And yet Maes had a feeling it was only just beginning to bubble to the surface.

"Where is he?"

The demand caught him off guard, but Roy managed the simple answer, "Who?"

A single eyebrow twitched downward at the delay, and he held one hand up to show them what was clutched between metal fingers. A leather-bound notebook of some sort. "My brother."

**I'm going to stop there, now. Please don't kill me, but I really have to be going to bed so I can power through the rest of this week. The good news is I'll have a little bit of time off this weekend for Spring Break. So thank you for waiting so patiently, and let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey everyone, I promised an update this weekend, so that's what you're getting! Hope you're having a wonderful spring holiday, and thanks for all the reviews for last chapter.**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Nine**

Roy could not help but feel like he had been abruptly plunged into a bucket of ice. The change was so sudden, and yet so _wrong_. He had come with Hughes expecting to be greeted by the same down-trodden, but genial boy that Madeline had essentially raised.

Yet here was furious, hackles raised, eyes and nostrils flaring…not Edward. This fierce, burning anger was familiar, but not all of Edward was the blazing sun. Even stars couldn't keep that up forever.

The book in his hand…Roy stared for a moment, but then his eyes widened. Fullmetal's alchemic journal, the one belonging of his that had still been missing. It must have been lying out in the back somewhere and the young boy had stumbled upon it.

"Fullmetal," he started, and gold eyes narrowed further at him. Not good; he was sure Edward had not written of his superior officer in the best of lights, and so now he was not to be trusted. Perhaps Hughes would be better for this if he could get over his shock. "Alphonse is safe and staying in the hotel you rented. There's no reason to worry."

"I know that. But I also know that he can't possibly know I've been found. The Alphonse I've read about would be here otherwise. You've lied to him. And you lied to me."

"You didn't remember him, why—"

"I have _family_, Mustang! A brother you kept from me! All this time I thought I was alone, like it didn't matter to anyone if my memory came back or not. Now I find out there's someone waiting for me, who actually gives a damn."

They were cutting words, and he couldn't seem to find his own voice to respond. But Hughes finally snapped out of his stupor.

"Edward, just think for a minute. You don't really remember Alphonse, aside from what you've written down. Don't you think it'd just upset him to come here and be a total stranger to you?"

The boy paused, clearly considering everything in his mind. When he looked up, his eyes were still shining bright.

"He'd still want to see me. I just know it."

OoO

Edward proved right about his brother. When Roy and Hughes went to finally tell Alphonse the news, the young boy sat quietly for a long moment. Then he looked up at them and said, in a voice firmer than Roy had yet to hear from him, "Take me to him."

OoO

As the appointed time drew nearer, he felt more and more on edge. Something would happen today, something was waiting for him. And yet all he could do was pace back and forth in the small one-window bedroom like a caged animal and count the minutes until he would be reunited with his brother.

If he could trust his own written word, he should be looking forward to this occasion. Alphonse sounded like the perfect brother; kind, caring, dependable. He found nary a negative comment written about his little brother. But still there was the feeling that something lurked behind it all.

Maybe it was just a feeling of nervousness. After all, Mr. Hughes had been right. It would be odd, and a little painful on Alphonse's part he was sure, to re-meet his own brother. He tried his best to bring up some kind of image in his mind, anything. What did his brother look like? Were they at all similar in appearance? Did one look more like their mother than the other, or like their father instead?

It was like a rendezvous with a long-term pen pal for the first time. There was always the chance that you'd find someone unexpected. This only made his stomach clench. He clenched and released his hands a couple times, took a deep breath—

But damnit, this stupid bow tie was just too tight. He loosened and then simply tore it away from his throat, tossing it on the bed. That was better. He continued to pace.

And then, checking the dusty clock on the wall, he saw it was time. Before he could impatiently stride to the door and move down into the barroom to wait, he heard something on the stairs.

It sounded like they were trying to move the whole oven and stovetop up the stairs by lifting it and then dropping it every step, slowly up and up. And now his feet were absolutely planted, so that he could not even check for the source of this commotion. Each clang, bump, and scrape came louder and closer, and the floor was shaking to the rhythm of the…steps?

"Fullmetal? It's us."

Mustang. Mustang was outside with that monstrous noise. "Come in," he heard himself say, though his mouth felt far too dry for speech to be possible.

The door swung open and he was faced with his nightmare.

A gray head ducked to clear the doorframe, though a deadly spike scratched a line, and the heavy footfalls thudded twice more. Enormous gloved hands agitatedly smoothed a blue loincloth.

"Brother?" No. "Ed?" It couldn't. "Um, I'm—"

"You're not really. You can't be."

"Wha- what?"

He could hear the hurt in the tone, and he forced his eyes to move up, past the unchanging mouth line and chin, all the way to the eyes. The glowing eyes that pierced through him completely to his wings and melted them all over again with the sheer sparking, burning, red hot intensity. His vision tunneled, but he forced himself to stand on his borrowed leg and look his forgotten creation in the eye.

"Let me see it." Don't forget. He'd forgotten. He needed to be reminded.

Alphonse hesitated for a worried minute, but reached up and lifted off the helmet to reveal the inside of the cold shell, his blood a horrific splash of color staining the neck.

Allen would have cried and run for Madeline. Edward Elric would have grimly nodded and continued on with his work.

He finally knew what Edward would do.

Edward crumpled to the floor, shrouded in his reawakened torment.

**Sorry, really short! But, I really wanted to get this out and see what you thought. Also, I have an important question for you all.**

**I purposefully left Hughes' name out of the last scene. What I want you to decided is whether or not he is there. If he is, that makes this story slightly AU, as Hughes doesn't actually learn about the Elrics performing human transmutation until early in the manga and this is a preseries story. So, do you want Hughes to learn about that now or for me to keep things as they are in the manga?**

**Again, happy spring holiday, thanks for reading, and please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay guys, I'm back again! The majority of you voted in favor of Hughes being there, so I'm going with that. Also, Joker Oak made the point that for those who have only watched the Brotherhood anime, it's explicitly stated that the Elrics don't meet Hughes until the first episode, whereas in the manga it's left more up to your own interpretation. So for those people, this story is already somewhat AU! (Sorry for not realizing.) So I'm not really going to worry about when Hughes finds out about the whole human transmutation-thing. But thanks for all the input everybody, I really appreciate it.**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Ten**

"Maes? If you can hear me, say something." He slowly blinked into awareness, his first sight being Roy's concerned face hovering overhead. It wasn't often that his friend got that look, something must have happened. He felt something cool to his head, covering—

"Ohhh," he groaned, the large bump on his forehead making its presence known at last, and he shut his eyes again against the throbbing. "What happened, Roy?"

"You fainted," came a more feminine, yet still gruffer, voice that he recognized as Roy's foster mother. When he chanced to look again he realized he was propped against a wall in one of the kitchen chairs. Roy, Madame Christmas, and Sylvia all stood around, the latter giggling a little at him. Hm, he fainted? Well, there was a dent to his pride that Gracia would be nursing for a while.

"Um…Mr. Hughes? I'm sorry if- if I scared you at all," came a tiny voice, and Maes' head whipped in the direction, not sure how he had missed the room's other occupant, Alphonse Elric.

No, the giant suit of armor. No boy dwelled inside.

But the whole metal body seemed to exude a sense of distress, guilt, and worry for him. Giant hands wrung together nervously. And a small child spoke to him.

"Not at all, Alphonse," he said with a smile. "I was just a little surprised."

Alphonse breathed in relief, if he needed to at all. "Oh, I'm glad. Most people are, don't worry about it. Usually, they scream." The helmet turned to gaze in the direction of the stairs, and then looked around agitatedly. "Could- could I go outside? I don't want to take up all the space in your kitchen."

Madame Christmas gave him a nod, and Sylvia showed him to the outer door.

"So," Maes said at last, "that—"

"Is the product of human transmutation. Alphonse Elric still lives, though how is a matter of highly complicated—"

"I don't want the details, Roy, you know I don't get your circus tricks." He waved a dismissive hand and sat fully up.

"They're trying to get their bodies back. That's why Edward joined the military."

That was when the thought struck Maes. "Where is Edward?" He tried to remember what he could. Alphonse had taken off the helmet and exposed the empty shell, and then Edward…

"He didn't faint, but he…he's not well. Madeline is up there now, trying to talk to him." Roy's eyes briefly flitted up to the ceiling, as though both worried and impatient.

"How is she going to help? No offense to Madeline, but I doubt she knows much about kids who perform human transmutation and then join up as the government's dog."

"She wanted to try; I wasn't going to stop her." Roy ignored his pointed look, so he spoke up instead.

"You're going to have to go up there. Talk to him." Silence. "He needs you."

"Fullmetal doesn't need anyone, he's been in worse scrapes," his friend dodged the issue, but Maes knew that Roy knew he was right. It was always like this.

"Really, Roy? Because I think suddenly having every single problem he's ever had—which is quite a few more than I was led to believe—dropped on his head in one moment is a pretty bad situation. Something tells me he couldn't face his brother right now if he tried. So it's got to be you."

"I hate to break this to you, Maes, but that idea everyone has of me and Fullmetal being like father and son is not a reality. He's a minor, but he looks after himself and his brother just fine without me."

"Would we be in this mess, then?" He challenged, and Roy frowned at him in annoyance.

"I'm not his parent. I wouldn't know what to tell him. I'm not that perfect father like you who knows exactly what to say and do to make his kid smile. I wouldn't know where to start." Roy sighed when he didn't see the determination leave his friend's face, and sat down in the chair next to Maes. It was time for the closing argument.

"Well I hate to break this to you, Roy, but the idea that I'm a perfect father isn't reality. Half the time when I look at Elysia, when I pick up that sweet, innocent child I think, 'Am I really doing this right? Am I raising her how I should?' On and on and on, doubt on top of doubt. Sometimes I wonder if—after everything—if I deserve to hold such a precious thing in my bloodied hands. But you know what, Roy? All of us, rich or poor, saint or sinner, are given a chance." He took a moment to dab at his eyes with a handkerchief, and when he looked back up, Roy's face seemed impassive on first glance, but inside Maes saw the walls and masks and everything built up over the years straining and cracking.

"So you're going to take that chance, and do your very best; just like you do with everything. Because you're Roy Mustang and nothing stops you, not even yourself. Maybe Edward doesn't want a father, maybe he and Al don't need one. But they need you."

There was no rebuttal.

OoO

It was frightening. The body was small, and yet stretched out on its side, back facing her, it seemed a cold, impenetrable wall. The shoulders were hunched up around the neck as though protecting it from unseen blows. And it lay in absolute silence.

Where had Allen gone and who was this boy?

"You're going to have to say something eventually," she coaxed, and when that did nothing, she reached out to touch his shoulder. With just the lightest impact his shoulder jerked to throw it off, and a searing glare was sent in her direction. It nearly made her breathless. "Allen—" she choked out.

"Edward," came the weary exhalation, resignation coloring every syllable. "Edward Elric."

Madeline frowned as he still refused to turn her way, but she couldn't help her lip trembling. Allen had been such a sweet child and now—"

He must have noticed her fumbling for her handkerchief because suddenly he was sitting up and facing her, a look of panic on his face that would have been pure Allen if not for something—guilt, self-loathing—lurking behind it. Sunk deep into those golden pools was a darkness that spoke all of a State Alchemist. Not Allen, the young server.

"I'm sorry, I- I always seem to make girls cry," he stammered, clearly uncomfortable. Then he sighed and pushed back his bangs with his human hand, though they flopped back into place. "Listen, Madeline. You're really nice, and I—I'm really grateful, to you and the others, but it'd be best we didn't have this discussion."

"What discussion?" She asked, somewhat taken aback by his taking charge of the conversation. It was difficult to remind herself that he was merely fourteen years old.

"The one where you try to find some part of the me in there that you knew. Try to convince me to be Allen, or like him."

"You _are_ Allen," she insisted stubbornly.

"Allen, or what he represented, died years ago with my _mother_," he snapped, and she gasped at the harsh impact of those words. No longer were those sunshine eyes going to look at her with that trust and warmth. It had no business in Edward Elric. Allen really was and truly gone, and he had never been hers to have. Some other, no doubt wonderful, woman had been given that gift in whatever time she had had left on the earth. Madeline would continue on, alone.

She saw the apology already on his lips, though her eyes were swimming.

"No, no," she said, stopping him, "It's alright. I was being foolish. Roy did try to warn me. It really was only meant to be temporary. But- but Edward? Have you ever killed anyone?"

He looked quite stunned by the question, but quickly said, "No."

"Do you help people when they ask?"

"Yes."

"And when they don't?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

She managed a watery smile and stepped forward. "Then there's enough Allen in you yet." And she wrapped her arms around him for the last time. A wave of sadness washed over when she noticed how hesitantly he moved to reciprocate it, just as he had that first morning he arrived. What a world they lived in where such a kind boy as Allen was changed into such a young man as Edward Elric!

Madeline walked to the door, but before she stepped through, he called, "Madeline?"

"Yes?"

"You deserve a son better than me." It broke her heart how sincerely he meant it.

"If you had any idea what a good person you are, you'd know it isn't true. Good-bye, Edward."

She stepped onto the landing and shut the door, not at all surprised to find her brother waiting in the hall.

"You silly boys," she said, resting her hand a moment on his stiff shoulder. "Growing up too fast and knowing the world, and breaking your mothers' hearts when you leave because you have to. He's all yours, Roy-Boy. Good luck." And she stepped down the stairs into the comforting arms of Madame Christmas, who might not say anything about it, but knew her pain all too well.

**I'm going to stop here for tonight. I honestly don't see this story continuing on past the next chapter, maybe two if I stretch it. It's a lot shorter than my previous story, but hey, I think it's been paced pretty decently. Don't get too worried, I'm already tossing ideas around for a new fic, so be on the lookout. I really love hearing from you all, and I tried to put a lot of feeling into this chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**And here we go! The last chapter. Thanks for sticking through this the past couple months, guys, I'm touched that my writing is so well appreciated.**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Eleven**

He paused for a moment, fumbling with his courage at the door. But he caught it up once again and pushed his old bedroom door open. A bedroom that would soon be empty once more. The brief echo of his childhood that Allen had provided would settle once more.

Right now, Edward sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the little window as Roy himself had done often in years past. While he had been imagining what it would be to roam the main streets and go beyond the cities to the world, Edward already knew what it was like. But he still wanted to try again, Roy knew it.

The blond boy turned to look at him and a silence, somewhat uncomfortable, stretched between them. Where did they stand now? Maes had made this sound much easier than reality. He didn't even have a plan.

"So uh," Edward cleared his throat. "Thanks." Roy blinked. "For watching Al while I was…out." He nodded at this. It was probably all the gratitude that Edward would acknowledge out loud, and that was fine. Roy hadn't even expected that much from the teenager.

"It wasn't a problem, he generally looks after himself," he replied as he came into the room proper, stopping short of the tiny bed he had called his own. If he were truthful, it wasn't much smaller than the bed in his apartment now. He still had a long way to go to reach his goals.

"Yeah, yeah he's- he's good at that." Edward looked down at his shoes and blew the air out of his lungs after a moment to take up time. Roy decided enough was enough and just to cut to what he needed to know.

"Are you recovered now? You seemed quite, well, shocked when Alphonse—"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Edward cut in, cheeks stained red in embarrassment. He seemed to take some reassurance, though, when he looked up and saw no smug smirk or equally mocking expression on Roy's face. "I wasn't surprised, not really. I guess I just didn't want to believe…what I'd done." The last words were spoken so quiet that if Roy had not been paying attention, he might have missed it. But he was determined now to pay attention, to all of his subordinates, not just those who had been with him longest or were the oldest. As such, he noticed Edward's habit come into play, human fingers rising briefly to trace a line of metal and flesh on his shoulder. It made Roy think of the other observation Falman had brought up.

And it hit him. What he, Edward, had done. Not what they, Edward and Alphonse, had done. Edward was not angry, not ashamed, not hateful of his brother.

He was angry, ashamed, and hateful of himself.

It was guilt that ate at Edward Elric day in and day out, making him irritable and bad-tempered. Guilt that kept him awake at night in the form of nightmares. Guilt that made it near impossible for him to raise his eyes to meet his brother's, whom he felt he had unforgivably wronged. Guilt was what drove him and kept him working at a breakneck pace to correct the mistake he felt was to be shouldered by him alone.

"You feel everything that happened was your fault." Edward's wide eyes snapped up to him in shock, because Roy had a feeling no one had guessed so nearly before.

"Yeah, it was," Edward said, quietly but with an air of matter-of-factness that called for absolutely no dispute. Roy thought about that for some time. In an idyllic world where he—or hell, Hohenheim himself—were the perfect father, a young boy like Edward would never have such a weight as that placed upon his small, but broadening shoulders. He would make him realize that no, he was not to blame and that everything would be alright.

But Roy knew that everything was not alright. People walked around with weights of all measure dragging them down. And this burden, however tragic, was what made Edward _Edward_. Take that away, and he would be tiny, naïve Allen.

And that would be an equal tragedy.

"We take responsibility for what we feel responsible for. No one can tell you what is or isn't your fault. It's for you to decide." Edward nodded solemnly. "But you can't let that feeling of responsibility completely take control. You have to use it as its own weapon. And never forget that there are those who feel just as responsible who are there when you need them."

OoO

A gloved hand, like his own was resting on his shoulder. It was heavy, but also strong, like it was both giving and taking away. Equivalent Exchange.

Edward found he could actually offer a grin. He'd wasted enough time wallowing anyway. "Sure," he promised Mustang, and a half-smile briefly flitted across the Colonel's features.

"I'll have Maes get the car. If you could locate your brother—"

Oh no, Alphonse must have been worried sick! "Yeah," he jumped up and headed briskly down the hall, but was stopped by a voice calling him back from the Madame's door.

"Edward," it was Madame Christmas herself, but Edward thought he could see Madeline somewhere inside. Truly, he felt she had been hurt the most in this whole accident, but even Edward could admit there was no way for him to fix it.

"Yes, Madame?" he asked, not really sure what she would say.

"Good luck." Sometimes the standards really were all that could be said. He nodded and then took off down the stairs, glancing around for the familiar armor, but not finding it inside. So he stepped out into the back alley.

"Al?"

Alphonse was looking around the narrow space curiously, but looked up at his name. Edward could tell his brother was both happy and nervous to see him.

"Sorry I—" they both started before each chuckling a little. It hardly needed said; they both already knew exactly what the other was sorry for. Everything.

"So, that's where I got knocked out," Edward pointed out the spot a few feet away from them and his brother looked with interest.

"Wow, you really were in a corner, Brother. But they found the guys that did it."

"Good." He hadn't really put much thought into it, but it was nice to know that those thugs did get caught.

"One of them was already dead, though, so he didn't go to jail."

"Oh." They stood quietly for a while, before Alphonse decided something more needed to be asked.

"I was just wondering, Brother; why did they call you Allen?"

"Oh. Well, when I was unconscious, Madeline heard me say, 'Al'. So they decided that had to be part of my name."

This answer made Alphonse quite happy, Edward could tell. "I guess you never really did forget me then."

"No, I guess not. Well, what kind of older brother would I be if I couldn't even remember I was one, huh?"

Alphonse laughed again. "Not a very good one, I suppose, Brother."

They heard a horn beep from in front of the bar. "Well, that's our ride, let's go," he told Alphonse, and the two walked inside to head out the front door.

But not before he was attacked by three hugs.

"Come and visit sometime," Jessie invited.

"Don't get hit by anymore bricks," Violet instructed.

"We'll miss you!" Sylvia cried.

"Ok, ok, let me breath!" Edward half-grumbled, but returned the hugs, much to Alphonse's amusement. They stepped through the door, and he threw up his hand in a backward wave before it shut. His brother was the first to the car, and so Edward squished in after, not minding the tight space.

"Everybody in?" Questioned Mr. Hughes, though he could already see so in the rearview mirror.

"Take us back to Headquarters, Maes," Roy said from the passenger seat.

"Oh great, I have to sign stuff that says I'm not dead, right?" Edward groaned in realization of the paperwork that no doubt awaited him.

"If you want to be legally dead, no, but then you'd have no State Certification either."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he replied, turning to look out the window at the quickly disappearing bar. It was strange leaving the place after all the time he'd spent there. Time…

His right hand, which had reflexively reached for his watch, was met with an empty pocket.

"Hey!" He exclaimed in realization. "Where is all my stuff?"

"We found everything except your journal, which you found," Hughes said, flashing him a grin, before turning back to the stoplight which had just changed to green.

"Once they're released from Evidence, they were going to give your things to me. So I guess you can have them, then. But the suitcase is still in the hotel."

"Oh good. It'd be nice to have those back. I can't believe I'm wearing your old clothes!" He tugged at the vest and made a face at Mustang, who merely raised an eyebrow. In retrospect, he couldn't believe he just spent time with Mustang's family. He'd never really even considered the Colonel as someone with family!

"I'm surprised that they even found those for you, Fullmetal. I'm certain that those stopped fitting me when I was _nine_."

"Oh boy," Alphonse muttered, taking his turn to look out the window.

"Who are you calling short, Mustang? _I'm_ surprised these weren't eaten by moths if they're that old!"

So they continued on in their usual ways. But somehow the words seemed less biting, and more like just a familiar exchange. Some things that had needed to be said had been said. Now they could all take up their responsibilities once more, but this time together.

**What is up with me and sappy endings? Gahh, whatever. I'm keeping it. I hope that you like it at least. I'm sorry for lack of short rant, but I thought all caps would look kind of dumb** **at the bottom of the page. Regardless, that's it! Thanks so much for all your responses, and for reading this! Please review!**


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